Whatever Happened To Patrick Jane?
by 713135
Summary: After getting Lisbon suspended, Jane is kidnapped by 'his biggest fan' who used to watch his TV show religiously. Although she seems perfectly normal on the surface, Jane is about to find out just how mentally unstable she really is. - Jisbon
1. Megan

Whatever Happened To Patrick Jane?

**My friends and I were in the middle of a horror movie marathon a few nights ago when this idea came to me, inspired by Stephen King's 'Misery'. If you haven't already, I recommend reading it. :D So I suppose its sort of a Mentalist/Misery crossover… but not really 'cause I made my own characters.**

**The title, of course, takes its name from 'Whatever Happened To Baby Jane', though this story bares no resemblance to the movie.**

Prologue

Teresa Lisbon stormed out of Her boss's office, closely followed by her teams consultant. It had been another difficult case and the ever-present Patrick Jane had not made anything any easier. Once again he had gone behind her back with one of his "full proof" plans, and she could actually feel herself doing air- quotes in her head. Of course they had caught the guy but Jane had also succeeded in getting her a weeks suspension, effective immediately.

"Honestly Lisbon, I really am sorry. I never meant to…" Lisbon spun around to face him, her fists clenched at her sides. Jane skidded and had step back slightly to avoid crashing into her.

"No, you never mean for these things to happen," she said sarcastically, "bad things just seem to happen on their own accord when you're around." She turned away from him again and continued to stride across the bullpen and into her office, presumably to collect her things.

Jane stood where she had left him and ignored the questioning looks he was receiving from the rest of the team. When Lisbon returned a few seconds later she was carrying her bag over her shoulder and her jacket over her arm.

"Well," she addressed the team, "After Jane's latest escapade I've been given a weeks suspension."Their eyes went wide, even Cho looked a little shocked, though he covered it well. "Cho, you're in charge. I'll see you all next Monday," Lisbon murmured as she left, self-consciously adjusting the strap of her bag. The team watched her leave, then turned their hard stares on Jane, and this time Cho made no effort to conceal his emotions.

Jane spent the remainder of the day lying on his couch. They didn't currently have a case and he was finding that the CBI was rather dull without Lisbon. Of course It didn't help that no one had spoken to him since Lisbon's departure, and they didn't even look up when he left work early. Not that he wouldn't return later, over the past few months he had taken to sleeping on the couch in the bullpen. He rationalized that it was more convenient.

When he left, Jane had not quite decided where it was exactly that he was going, but by the time he reached his car he knew he had to find Lisbon. He was confident that he remembered where her apartment was, pretending he hadn't memorised the rout long ago. He reached into his pocket for his keys and was about to unlock his car when he thought he felt someone watching him. It was that strange, unnerving feeling of someone's eyes focused on your back.

He started to scan the parking lot, with the hope that maybe Red John was watching him from the shadows, but he only managed a brief glace of the row of cars in front of him before he felt a large, heavy object collide with the back of his head. There was sharp pain and he thought he might have managed to cry out before he hit the ground.

Then everything went black.

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Chapter 1

As he opened his eyes he was immediately aware of a sharp pain at the back of his head. Wincing, he reached to cover it with his hand, feeling dried blood around the wound. The events of the previous day started to drift back to him like dead leaves down a river. Getting Lisbon suspended, leaving work to find her, being hit with something hard in the parking lot.

He instinctively reached for his cell but found that it wasn't in his pocket, in fact, he didn't find a pocket either. His hand brushed his bare thigh and it occurred to him that he wasn't wearing any clothes at all.

Looking round the room, he first thought he might be in a hospital. He was lying in a bed, the walls were pure white and it would make sense considering his injury. Though, if he was in hospital, they would have covered the wound by now… and he probably wouldn't be naked. Taking a closer look at the room, he noticed a few pictures on the wall, a desk at the far side of the room, a bed side table and an ugly green and yellow patterned carpet. The only other piece of furniture was an old wooden chair in the corner, which Jane doubted would be of any use to anyone wanting a seat.

The room had an unpleasant musky quality which didn't just apply to the smell. It was like the air within the room was solidifying, almost too thick to breath. He could feel it pressing in around him, smothering him with dust in such quantities it was almost visible, and was in fact visible when it passed the window and caught the light.

He could tell by the soft yellow light streaming through the window that it was early morning. He must have been here all night. Though the pain was beginning to subside a little, he was still aware of a faint throbbing at the back of his head.

"Oh, Mr. Jane. I'm so glad you're awake." His overly cheerful welcome came from a rather large woman who bumbled clumsily thought the door carrying a white plastic tray. She wore a loose blue dress covered with a red floral design and a pair of fluffy pink slippers. Her hair was a dark muddy brown which hung lifelessly over her face and her nose appeared to be pushed back, giving her face an overall pig-like quality. She set the tray down on a small bedside table next to his head and looked at him with a warm smile.

At first, Jane found himself beginning to smile back, but then it occurred to him that this woman must have been the one to knock him out in the first place, and his smile froze. However, she didn't seem to notice his sudden discomfort.

"I brought you some homemade soup," she said, gesturing to the tray, "and some orange juice. I hope you don't mind pulp." Laughing a little at her comment, she helped Jane into a sitting position, adjusting his pillow and placing the tray on his lap.

"I cleaned you head wound as best I could but I'm afraid there's still quite a bit of dried blood in your beautiful golden hair." She continued, tentatively stroking his hair as she spoke. "My name is Megan. Megan Duruy. I'm a big fan of yours."

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The team had not been surprised when Jane had left early, nor had they been surprised when he had not shown up the following day. But by Wednesday, Van-Pelt was beginning to worry. Not that it was unlike Jane to go swanning off on his own without telling anyone where he was going. Still, she felt she should check if Lisbon had heard anything from him.

"Lisbon," Van-Pelt heard the sharp greeting almost before the phone had even had a chance to ring.

"Hey boss, its, um, Van-Pelt," She started awkwardly. She really shouldn't be bothering Lisbon while she was suspended, especially not regarding the reason for her suspension. She was more than likely over-reacting anyway.

"Hey Van-Pelt, is there a problem?" Van-Pelt noticed the more friendly tone in her boss's voice, probably relieved it wasn't Jane with another half-assed apology… and maybe a little grateful for someone to talk to. Lisbon didn't really strike her as someone with a very active social life.

"No, I don't think so. It's just that Jane left early on Monday and no ones seen him since. I was just wondering if you'd heard from him." Even though she had convinced herself there was nothing wrong, the trace of hope was evident in her voice. Just as worry was evident in her boss's response.

"Um… no. I haven't heard anything from him."

"Well, I'm sure its nothing to worry about," Van-Pelt continued quickly. "You know how he is."

"Yeah," Lisbon replied quietly, obviously not convinced, and Van-Pelt immediately regretted phoning over something so trivial, having known that Lisbon would be concerned.

Lisbon hung up the phone, not waiting to see if Van-Pelt had anything else to say. When she had heard the phone ring she thought it would have been Jane, and had to admit she was even a little disappointed when it wasn't. She had told herself she didn't want to talk to Jane, and had refused to analyse why she sat so close to the phone.

She had expected him to call, thought he would at least attempt a half decent apology, or try to rope her into one of his schemes. But Van-Pelt was right, Jane could look after himself. After all, this wasn't the first time he hadn't turned up for work, although usually he'd call at some point. Often having gotton himself into a mess that she would then have to clean up.

But what if his mess went further this time. If she put a penny in a jar every time someone swore revenge against Patrick Jane then she would have to build an extension to put the jars in. Lisbon quickly pulled her cell phone out of her jean pocket and scrolled though her contacts until she found Jane's number.

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"I'll leave you with your soup," Megan said, fluffing his pillow for the fourth time since he had woken up. "Call me if you need anything." Shed left before Jane even had time to formulate a response, waddling awkwardly through the door.

He had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout their one-sided conversation, and guessed that had something to do with the fuzzy feeling in his head. The pain had diminished slightly and he found it quite easy to ignore.

Looking sceptically at the oddly shaped lumps floating in the soup in front of him, Jane thought about what Megan had said. She claimed to be a big fan of his. Must be from his days as a psychic. He had had a regular show on ESPN each week, had done a lot of interviews, and was close to going on tour. Naturally there would be people who would recognise him, and it suddenly struck his as surprising that no one had until now.  
Though, there were many TV psychics, and if one dropped from the scene now and then there were another three to take their place. No one would notice the difference, no one would even remember him after a week.

But Megan obviously did, and he wasn't so sure hers was the sort of attention he was either accustomed to nor comfortable with. He had briefly encountered such fans on a few occasions but had always been able to escape by calling security or simply legging it and hiding behind some trash cans.

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There was no security and he was in no shape or state of dress to run even if he hadn't been certain Megan had locked the door several times behind her. He felt his eyelids begin to droop again and hazily wondered if she had sedated him before he slid further under the covers as his eyes closed.

Megan walked over to her kitchen table where she had neatly folded Patrick Jane's clothes, now slightly irritated by an incessant ringing coming from one of the pockets. She fished though his jacket and then his pants, finally finding the culprit of the offensive noise. Flipping open his cell phone, she read the caller ID.

"Teresa Lisbon," she read out loud.

Well, whoever she was, she wasn't going to be coming anywhere her Patrick.

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**Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. It would mean a lot to me if you could tell me what you thought. *hint, hint* ^^**


	2. Where The Crack Was

**Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter, and a special thanks to Country2776, Aqua Mage, Holz9364, Iloveplotbunnies, Flora, wity, glouton-mana, theresa366, waterbaby134 and blueMnM415 for reviewing the first chapter. I really appreciate it. :D  
This is turning out to be really fun to write.**

Chapter 2

Jane had often received letters from people, mostly women, claiming to be his biggest fan, many of whom had expressed an unsettlingly detailed sexual interest in him. He had paid no attention to most of them, but had occasionally read a few for entertainment purposes. Reading those letters was almost like standing in the snow. No two were exactly alike, yet many were very similar.

He wondered now if he had read a letter Megan had sent, and he was sure she would of sent at least three. He also wondered how he might be able to escape, or if someone might find him, if anyone had even noticed he was missing and where the hell his dammed clothes were. There were only two small windows and even if he could open them, he doubted he'd be able to climb through.

To anyone passing her in the street, Megan would seem to be harmless but, in his experience, someone who knocked you out, took your clothes and looked you in a room was not someone to be trusted. He felt sure she could turn at any moment, and he didn't want to be around when she did.

He couldn't be sure what the time was, or what day it was, but it was probably Wednesday. If it had been Monday when he left the CBI building, Tuesday when he had first woken up, and it appeared to be morning again now. If he had slept for a whole day she must have sedated him.

There was a thud on the other side of the door, and he heard her chubby fingers fumbling with the locks before he heard them slide and hit the end with a sharp clink. The door swung open and she came in carrying another tray, this time with two slices of toast.

"Ah, Mr. Jane. You fell asleep before you had time to eat so I thought you must be hungry by now," she said as she placed the tray on his lap and stroked his hair, like she had done the previous day.

"I still can't believe my luck." She continued as Jane eyed the toast warily. It looked a little burnt but otherwise edible. "Just think, I've been searching for you for three years and I was beginning to give up when there you were, just standing in a parking lot. I'm sorry I hit you but I couldn't think what else to do."

Jane was about to suggest that a good old-fashioned 'hello' would have worked just as well but decided to keep that to himself. He didn't know what might set her off, it was always the small things.

"Well, go on then Mr. Jane. Eat your toast." She gestured enthusiastically towards the tray and Jane responded with a wide smile. The safest option would be to play along and pretend nothing was out of the ordinary. That it was perfectly acceptable for a woman to knock him over the head and then keep him hostage in her house.

"Please, call me Patrick." He replied as he took a bite out of one of the pieces of toast. It was more burnt then he had first thought, as though it was only burnt on the inside, but he ate the rest eagerly. It had been at least a day since he had eaten anything.

"Ok… Patrick," Megan drew out his name and blushed a little as she said it. She reminded him a little of a schoolgirl saying hi to her crush. But knowing Megan she wouldn't say hello, but would decide to hit him over the head instead.

"I have to say Patrick, that I was more than a little hurt when you left without any explanation." Her face suddenly became grim and he felt as though her eyes were staring right through him. "of course I heard what happened to your family, tragic," she continued with the same hollow tone in her voice, "but that's no reason to just vanish."

"I'm sorry," Jane said slowly, trying not to react to her blatant disregard to what had happened to his wife and child. The real Megan was beginning to show through and he was more than a little scared at what he was seeing. She was like the toast, burnt on the inside… and most people would never know until they bit into it and it was already too late. But then just as quickly as the dark shadows had entered her eyes, they left, and were once again replaced with the cheerful mask he had seen before.

"No, you're here now. I forgive you," She reached over to cup his cheek in her hand. " I forgive you…" She took the empty tray from his lap and stood to leave.

"Megan," he said, and she turned to face him. "If its not to much trouble, I would quite like my clothes back." She smiled at him.

"Don't worry Patrick," she giggled. "they're in a safe place." And with that said she left. Making sure she bolted each lock across the door. Jane thought he heard four, and then heard a key turn in the lock. He was left alone, and considering his only possible company, he was glad of it.

….

When Jane hadn't answered his cell, Lisbon had driven down to his house. She had only been there once but it wasn't exactly what you would call a standard suburban home and so she remembered it well.

His car wasn't on the drive and there was a pile of unread mail building up outside the front door. Getting out of her car, Lisbon walked over to the open porch, glancing briefly at the small heap of adverts and free newspapers. She peered though the glass on each side of the door, even though she could see from the road that no one was in.

She left the porch, now walking aimlessly in the general direction of her car. Slouching in the drivers seat, she tried to think of any other places Jane might have gone. He wasn't at work and didn't have any friends or family that she knew of. He wasn't answering his phone and she didn't have any other way of contacting him.

No one had seen him for three days, surly that would count as a missing persons case. She decided to call Van-Pelt, just in case he had returned to work.

"Van-Pelt," she answered cheerfully. Lisbon thought that all cheer would have been beaten out of her by now, yet somehow she still always found a way to be optimistic.

"Hey Van-Pelt, I was just wondering if Jane had turned up."

"No sorry, he still isn't here. He isn't answering his phone either." She replied, still berating herself for getting Lisbon worried, although she now felt that this might be serious after all.

"I know, I tried to call him too. He isn't at home and I don't know where else to look." Lisbon knew she sounded desperate but she was now convinced Jane was missing. Something had happened. "I know I'm suspended but I'm going to try and find him. I want you to report him missing and please don't tell anyone I'm involved."

"I wont." Lisbon hung up and drove away from Jane's house. She hadn't decided where to go and she couldn't even guess where she should start. She could only hope that the team could track him and that they would keep her informed.

….

Jane still felt a little drowsy but whatever she had injected him with was starting to wear off. Megan had come in again on a few occasions since she had brought him breakfast. Once to bring him a glass of water, the second just to fluff his pillows and the third to bring lunch, which came on a similar tray to the previous meals. It had been more soup, containing the same strange lumps as the first, and half of it still lay uneaten on the bedside table.

When she came in a fourth time in order to remove the tray, Jane pretended to be asleep. Hoping she wouldn't attempt to wake him and ask why he hadn't finished the soup. (or why he some parts seemed to have been chewed and then spat out) But she simply picked up the tray, and he felt her hesitate slightly before pressing her course, dry lips against the corner of his mouth. Then she left, fastening the bolts behind her, and she did not return until the evening.

Jane had been following the cracks in the ceiling, for lack of a better pastime, and had found that although they were barley visible, there were many. They ran most densely along the corners and then spread out over the middle, dividing and joining in Ys and Ws. There were so many, he now found it hard to believe that he had first thought the ceiling to be clear. And yet, at a glance, that is how it would seem.

He was still studying the formations above him when Megan next entered the room, once again carrying a clean white tray most likely supporting yet another delightful homemade meal. She greeted him cheerfully, as she always did, and set the tray in front of him. Jane was relieved when he saw the simple cheese and pickle sandwich, which looked a lot more edible than the soup had. Not exactly appetising, but edible.

"Oh Patrick, I've so many questions to ask you." She began, almost wistfully, as he took a bite out of his dinner, letting a rubbery piece of cheese fall from between the bread and on to the plate. "Where have you been all this time?" She asked after a short pause, looking at him expectantly.

"Well…" He started to reply but was cut off almost immediately.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," She barked loudly, moving closer so her face was in front of his. Jane recoiled in shock, trying not to cringe as her stale breath drifted over his face. She moved back slightly, regaining control and continuing calmly, "Its bad manners."

Jane quickly swallowed his food. "Sorry," He replied quietly, timidly. He had not been expecting such a sudden outburst, even from such an obviously unstable woman. He was unable to read her and that meant he no longer had the upper hand.

Her expression softened at his apology. "That's ok dear, you're a good man, I know that. Its just sometimes we forget ourselves." She wasn't looking at him as she finished, instead her eyes were unfocused, and he saw a hint of the dark shadows that had appeared before.

Jane cleared his throat before continuing, although he couldn't be sure if she heard him or not. "I've been working for the CBI." She instantly fixed her hard gaze on him, but the shadows diminished as soon as she blinked.

"Yes," She replied slowly, as though coming out of a dream, "of course you are. The newspapers said that." She smiled at him fondly, "I do wish you hadn't given up your TV show. A great talent such as yours shouldn't be hidden away. I see all those other so called 'psychics' on TV now, but they're all fake. Just cheep carnival tricks." And she said this with such venom that he felt sure that if she saw one of these 'so called psychics' shed do more than hit them over the head.

"None of them have true talent, like you do." Jane was about to tell her he was no more genuine than the rest of them. There were no psychics, even those who truly believed in their powers were only out for their own good… but then he remembered how she had talked of the others.

"I have never believed in anyone or anything with as much certainty as I believe in you. If fact," She paused and looked at her hands which were slipping and fumbling in her lap. "I think I might love you." She looked up at him, and he saw a simple naïvety in her expression along with her twisted teenage perception of love. "of course," she continued, a little unsure of herself, and for the first time Jane felt as though he might have gained the upper hand, if only briefly. "I knew I loved you from the first time I saw your sweet smile as you told that woman, Judith I think her name was, you told her that her brother forgave her. But I could only love what I knew of you, and I think now I will come to love the rest of you. And I think, in time, you will come to love me too."

She reached out her hand and stroked his cheek with the backs of her knuckles. Jane, who had now finished his sandwich, sat mutely under her intense gaze. She had remembered the name, and Jane was sure she was more certain of it than she appeared. He would even bet she knew the woman's last name too, and it must have been from one of his early shows.

"I don't suppose you'd mind trying to contact someone for me would you?," She asked in a timid voice, though it held a darker undertone which made Jane think of possible punishments for his refusal. "Its just I would very much like to speak to my farther."

Jane hesitated a moment before replying, he had promised himself he would never pretend to contact the dead again. A reputation once broken may possibly be repaired, but the world will always keep their eyes on the spot where the crack was. "I'm sorry Megan, I'm out of practice, and I feel my connection with the afterlife has faded." He lied, and it still hurt him to realise how easily he could slip back into old ways, even if the words had changed slightly.

Megan's features darkened and she brought her face closer, so it was only inches away from his own, and once again he felt her foul breath crawl over is face. "Please," she whispered, but her tone was frighteningly aggressive, "its very important."

Jane could see the lines and creases of her skin, much like the cracks in the ceiling. Only revealing themselves when you were really looking. "I can try," he responded quietly, his confidant mask slipping. "but first I really need to go to the bathroom."

Megan's eyes narrowed as she observed him. She then quickly moved away, reaching under the bed and pulling out a white porcelain bowl. Dragging the duvet away from him and tossing it on the floor with such speed Jane barley had time to cover himself, she placed the bowl at his feat and stood back, still glaring at him.

"Well go on then," she snapped, when Jane didn't move. He was all to aware of his nudity. "What are you waiting for? I trust you don't need my help to urinate, or am I overestimating you?"

Stunned at her sudden outburst, Jane silently did as he was told, crawling across the bed towards the bowl. When he had finished, Megan removed the bowl, rubbing her temple with one oversized hand and breathed deeply.

"I know how I am when I get like this so I'm going to leave before I do something to hurt you." She was already at the door as she finished her sentence. When he heard the final bolt slide in to place and the key turn in the lock he scrambled for the covers that had been tossed on the floor. Even with no one else in the room he felt exposed.

It had become all to clear that Megan had no intention of ever letting him leave. When she next asked to speak with her father he would not refuse, he would tell her whatever it was she wanted to hear and hope that was enough. He was just her little pet psychic, and he saw no real way out of it.

….

**So… end of the chapter is… kind of… weird. *awkward silence*  
Hope you enjoyed reading anyway. :)**


	3. The Gingerbread House

**Thanks to Country2776, ShunKickSunKers, Frogster, Agua Mage, Holz9364, lisbon69, Iloveplotbunnies, mwalter1, Dani-9900, blueMnM415, waterbaby134, Liz, Meg and Anna who reviewed the last chapter! You guys really made my day. :D**

Chapter 3

Cho had always been close to Lisbon, though no one could tell by looking at them. He respected her and felt as though he could relate to her, if only in a diminutive way. This made him slightly protective, and when Jane's antics got her suspended he could honestly say that a small part of him seriously wished the man physical harm. This part of him was still raging even after Van-Pelt expressed her concerns for his well being, even after he hadn't been seen for four days, but diminished considerably when he saw the strokes of worry set deeply in Lisbon's expression as she walked towards him though the CBI car park. He may not be particularly fond of Patrick Jane, but he meant a lot to her, and so at least meant something to him.

"Hey Boss," he greeted when she was close enough to hear him. She looked tired, the street lights casting dark shadows across her face and illuminating her weary eyes.

"Hey," she replied, her voice just as worn as her appearance.

"I take it you haven't had any luck finding Jane." Lisbon only shook her head slightly.

"I'm afraid I don't have much to offer from my end either. We're trying to involve more agents but… I guess people are just busy right now. I know it's not quite the positive news you were hoping for…"

"No, it's ok. I didn't expect anything so soon anyway." They stood in silence for a moment, both waiting for the other to speak but neither quite sure what to say.

"We miss you y'know," Cho said suddenly, "both of you." Which he supposed was true. Although Jane was often more of a burden than he was helpful, he did provide a certain relief in an otherwise rough and, at times terribly depressing, job.

Lisbon smiled slightly at Cho's admission. She enjoyed these brief moments when Cho would voice his thoughts and feelings, they came all to rarely. But then she supposed she could say that for all of them.

"I'll be back on Monday." She wished she could say the same for Jane, but couldn't, and so said nothing, and neither did he. "I only wanted to ask if you had any developments, any leads?" She asked hopefully, "I'd like to feel as though we've made a little progress, however small." Cho shook his head, as he told her they had no leads, no clues, that hadn't even found his car, and she only nodded in reply. It was nothing less then what she had expected.

She gave a small wave as they parted, and headed back to her car, as he continued to his. He sat in the driver's seat for a moment longer and watched her as she did the same, resting her head against the steering wheel. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the head rest, pressing his hands over his forehead. When he looked back she was gone.

As he left the parking lot, he prayed that she would be safe, and for the first time, he prayed for Jane too.

…...

Jane lay against the cold stiff pillow. It was hard to see the cracks when it was dark, harder than it was to see other things. It was like the night created a mask in which the ceiling could hide behind, covering what it did not want the world to see. But it didn't make the cracks any less real. He knew now that he could not predict Megan's behaviour. Even if he had expected her to turn on him, to shout and yell, there was no psychic in the world, fake or otherwise, who could have know just how she would react.

Focusing on a deeper crack towards the edge, he followed it until it met the adjoining wall, and then realised that it branched off into two thinner cracks. As he followed them, he began to see others, joining and separating like a web. Maybe if he could focus on a clearer part of Megan's personality, the rest would become easier to see, even when the mask was in place.

…

Lisbon sat on her bed. She had moved the pillow so it stood vertically behind her, allowing her to lean against it comfortably. It was the third night she had not been able to sleep. She felt as though no one cared Jane was missing. Her team weren't even worried when he didn't show up for work, didn't try to find out where he was. Of course Van-Pelt would have been concerned, Lisbon had always thought her to be to caring to work efficiently as a police officer. Although, she seemed to manage just fine.

Lisbon would have thought Hightower would have wanted to find Jane as soon as possible. After all, he was her 'Golden Boy'. He closed cases, a lot of cases. He was a little hard to work with at times…well, most of the time, and no one knew that better than she did. Had they decided he was too good to fire, but maybe if he just simply disappeared… No, that was ridiculous. This wasn't like not wanting to cut a wedding cake and ruin its perfect beauty, but then when someone else cuts it you realise the cake wasn't that great anyway. Jane wasn't cake.

The CBI would be doing everything they could to find him. He was one of their own. Not an agent, but still part of them, part of her team. Hightower would put every agent available on this case, but there were still other crimes that needed solving, murders being committed, women being raped. The rest of the world didn't stop because one CBI consultant goes missing.

Maybe people were just busy right now.

…..

Jane found himself drifting in and out of sleep so frequently he could no longer tell when he was awake and when he was not. Sometimes he thought he was awake, but then the walls would begin to melt or the ground begin to sink. Sometimes he'd turn over and Lisbon would be beside him, he'd reach out to touch her… but then she was gone. Did that mean he was awake or that the dream had simply changed? He didn't know… he never knew.

They were often unusual dreams, and he was sure now that Megan was still slipping sedatives into his food, possibly with hallucinogenic side effects. Only mild, but wild enough to begin freaking him out a little, and making it quite possibly that what he thought to be a dream was actually a distorted reality. But then maybe that's all a dream is, really. He watched colours swirl and dance behind his eyelids as he slowly began to drift into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke, a tray with two slices of toast and a glass of fresh orange juice had already been set on the bedside table. The toast looked surprisingly edible and was even covered in a thin layer of strawberry jelly, which he considered to be a small apology. Obviously Megan's mask had climbed back into place after its sudden slip the previous night, shamefully covering the hideous cracks that were not meant to be seen.

He sat up and ate his toast eagerly, careful not to drop any crumbs on to the bed covers. He didn't want there to be anything she could use against him later. It was always the small things. Finishing his toast, he set the tray back on the table just as he heard Megan begin to fumble with the locks on the other side of the door.

The key turned in the lock and she made her cheery entrance as she always did and greeted him with a merry 'Good Morning' and a light peck on the cheek. Honestly, Jane was repulsed by her overly joyful actions, which he knew were fake, knew all too well. But he said none of this and instead returned her smile, thanking her for the toast and complimenting her grotesquely vibrant dress.

"I am sorry about last night, my love," she said, as though what had passed between them had been nothing more than a misunderstanding. "I understand it will be hard to begin contacting the spirit world again, especially after such a long time, but you will try won't you." It was not a question, and her expression held only determination.

Jane smiled brightly, letting his natural charm take over. "Of course Megan." She returned his smile, and the shadows in her eyes faded. She almost looked normal, but Jane could still see where the cracks had been.

"I knew you would. You're a good man Patrick, a good man." And it was the way she looked then, the way her eyes cleared and her expression changed to one of excitement. The way she beamed and hugged him tightly. He knew, he finally had something that he just might be able to use to his advantage. He had her trust.

…..

Lisbon hadn't slept at all that night. She only lay on top of her duvet, her feet at the head of the bed, holding her phone in her hand and calling Jane continuously at what she felt 10 minute intervals but in reality were probably a lot less. But then that was how she had spent ever other night that week, why would last night be any different? She heard the shrill beeping of her alarm clock and glanced over and instinctively began to rise. 6:00, the time she would usually get up for work… but there was no work. She flopped back against the mattress, selected Jane's name on her contact list and hit the call button.

At least the first few times she had called the phone had rung, and there was a chance he might pick up and answer with his usual cheery greeting. But now she couldn't even get though, his phone had been switched off. Maybe he didn't want to be found. Surly Jane wouldn't run away.

Maybe he'd found a new lead on Red John. If he thought he could find him himself, before the team found out, then he wouldn't hesitate to leave without them. So he could kill the bastard before they had a chance to stop him. It was what he wanted, he had made that clear enough on a number of occasions, just as she had made it clear she would do everything within her power to stop him. Had this driven him to pursue Red John alone?

No, Jane could never find him alone, even he knew that. That was why he joined them, why he stayed. If he even considered it might be possible to find him, he would have left them long ago. But he needed them, and she was glad of it.

…

Jon Brieson was by no means an experienced cop. Having only joined the previous summer, he had worked on the force for barley half a year. It was for this reason he thought the decision to send him to a suspect's house alone was a bad one. Though his team didn't consider the suspect to be in any way dangerous, he still felt a small flutter in his stomach as he approached the small house. There was nothing unusual about the house, in fact it was quite a nice house. Neat rows of flowers on either side of the drive, white picket fence, a soft brown 'Welcome' mat on the open porch. There was even a small fish pond filled with beautifully coloured coy.

So why did he feel as though he was about to enter the Gingerbread house. Something wasn't right, everything was too perfect, to clean. It was as if the garden itself was trying to conceal a terrible secret. As he stepped onto the porch he felt the eyes of the flowers on his back, they grinned and they knew they had fooled him.

He wanted to turn back, wanted to run. He had never wanted to join the police and he had only done so because of his father. He was too superstitious, too irrational for a job such as this. He refused to step on cracks, he didn't like to get up a night and he still checked for the Boogeyman in his closet. He wasn't meant to be here, he'd always wanted to be a teacher. But if he turned back now, what would his team think of him? How could he go back and say, "I didn't talk to the suspect because the flowers were staring at me and I thought there might be a wolf inside dressed as a grandmother and it was gonna eat me!"?

No, he would stay. He would talk to the suspect, they wouldn't be a wolf and then he would leave. He would leave the house, and then he would leave the force. This was his last. He wasn't cut out for the police and he never would be.

He turned his back on the garden and raised his hand to the door. He was aware of the hesitant pause before his knuckles connected with the wood. He was scared, actually scared and all because he thought some flowers looked at him funny. This was ridiculous, even he saw that and the realisation made him want to laugh… but he didn't. He turned and looked at the neat rows of flowers, and they looked back. He swore they did. They all moved in unison, each perfectly in synch with the others… and they watched him.

…

Megan was just leaving the room in which she held Jane captive when she heard a brief knock on the door. She looked up suddenly and Jane saw the fear flash in her eyes. She knew she shouldn't have him here, if they found him they'd take her away.

"Don't say a word, you understand! Not A Word!" She whispered harshly, bringing her face close to his. "If so much as a sound comes from this room then I promise you, you will regret it!"

She didn't wait for his reply. He heard each bolt fasten and then the key turn in the lock. He had only ever had a quick glance at what was though the door, but as he heard her greet whoever had been knocking he realised he must be close to the front door. He strained to hear what was being said but could only make out vague sounds. The other person was a man, he knew that much, but it wasn't anyone he knew.

The man entered the house and Jane heard the door shut behind him. He was right there in the hall, he could help. _Not a word…_ but what about a cough, or a sneeze? They weren't words, only noises, accidental noises. He couldn't be blamed for that.

Jane heard their voices become fainter as they moved away, and he thought he heard Megan say she would make him a cup of coffee, told him to wait in the living room. Come back, he thought desperately. I'm in here, can't you see she's crazy? Look for the cracks! He considered Megan's words before finally deciding his actions. This could be his only chance. Megan wasn't exactly a social butterfly, how many other visitors could she get?

He coughed, but only quietly. Working up more courage he coughed again, louder this time, but still nobody came. He was too far away. He couldn't wait until the man came closer, then Megan would know. Right now there was a chance she wouldn't hear him, that the man would be closer than she was.

"Help!" The word came out his mouth before he really had a chance to think about what he was doing. Help was a word, not a noise, a word. But now he couldn't seem to stop. "HELP!" He shouted again and soon he heard footsteps frantically approaching the door. He'd been heard, he was going to get out of here. He shouted again and heard the bolts slide and someone fumble with a key before the door finally swung open.

He was a cop. He was a god damned cop! Jane felt a grin spread over his face as his eyes skimmed the clean blue uniform. He was safe, what could she do against a…

There was a deafeningly loud shot, made louder by its unexpected nature. Jane's smile slid from his face as he watched the look of surprise on the young policeman's face turn to one of pain and horror. For a moment he just stood, perfectly still, and it took Jane a while to process what was happening. As he crumpled to the ground, Jane saw the bullet hole in the back of his uniform, the blood seeping through his shirt, and he saw Megan stood behind him, a P8 Pistol in her hand.

"You shouldn't have done that, Patrick."

…..

**Dun, dun, dun…  
Quite a lot of unnecessary rambling in this chapter, sorry about that. ^^ At least I shut up about cracks… mostly. *re-reads chapter* Ok, so I mentioned cracks more than ever.**

**Hope you enjoyed! **


	4. Seien Sie Vorsichtig, Was Du Dir Wünschs

**Seien Sie vorsichtig, was du dir wünschst ~ Be careful what you wish for.  
A big thank you to Agua Mage, lisbon69, Iloveplotbunnies , Dani-9900, blueMnM415, waterbaby134, RedBrickandIvy, sydsyd1253, Megster97 and Anna. *cyber-hugs you all*  
Sorry, this chapters a bit late. I have my German speaking exam tomorrow and I've been revising really hard. :D This is also why the title is in German. I think I translated it correctly. ^^**

**WARNING: Slightly Sadistic punishment ahead. **

Chapter 4

Agent Woods finished the last of his coffee and set the empty mug on his desk, leaving a fresh brown ring on one of the documents in front of him. He rubbed his eyes and yawned as he glanced at his watch. 7:30, it had been a long day. He frowned at the numbers, Brieson should have been back at least two hours ago. He was only interviewing a minor suspect in what was turning out to be a pretty easy case. It was just a routine procedure, and the woman in question was more a witness than suspect. Surly it wouldn't have taken him more than 20 minutes.

Pushing all the papers to one side of the desk in an attempt to bring order to the mass of files and documents, he walked over to the other side of his office to collect his coat before leaving. Closing the blinds and locking the door behind him, he scanned the area for the missing officer. Most of the force had already left for the night, leaving only a few still quietly finishing paper work in their office.

Maybe Brieson had been caught in traffic and decided to head home. It was unlikely he would have information of any value and what he did have would certainly be able to wait until tomorrow. Still, it was unprofessional to leave work without informing anyone. Brieson may be inexperienced but even he would know that.

As he entered the elevator, pressing the floor number for the Car Park, Woods removed his cell phone from his pocket and dialled Brieson's number. Not yet sure if it was out of anger at his unexplained departure or concern for his well being. He wasn't always the most efficient worker, wasn't good with blood or death, scared of criminals and most probably the dark. But he was a good man.

Holding the phone to his ear, he heard it ring several times before a chirpy female voice told him the number he called was not available at the moment. He disconnected the call as the elevator doors opened on to the car park. Walking towards his car, he dialled the officers home number. Again he heard it ring several times before the answering machine cut in. He considered just hanging up, but decided to leave a short message in case he was in the shower, or just gone down to the shops for some milk.

"Hey Brieson, it's Woods. Look, I was just wondering if you got anything new on the case. Call me when you get this." He placed his phone on the passenger seat and turned the key in the ignition.

Brieson never called back, and he wasn't at work the next day. He was declared missing on the news and in several papers, which showed a smiling picture of the young agent, taken not that long ago when he had first joined the force. The article lay on Wood's desk, covering the coffee stained files and documents of other cases. He sat, hunched forward in his chair, and looked at the image. Brieson had never wanted to be a cop, and now Woods was quite sure he wished he hadn't.

….

Jane didn't know where Megan had hidden the body, and in all honesty he didn't want to. She had been gone for a while, or at least he thought she had. Without a watch or anything to occupy his time he really had no concept of how it was passing. It was getting dark, and he realised he was getting quite hungry. Vaguely wondering whether Megan might withhold food as a punishment, he began to think of other punishments she might subject him to. None of which were pleasant, but then if they were if would defeat the object.

Although, without sedative-laced food, he found he was beginning to return to normal. His energy was slowly seeping back and he could focus on objects without having to blink rapidly beforehand. He became more aware of his surroundings, clean floor, sparsely furnished with no ornaments or decoration. It was most probably the spare room and the think, musty smell confirmed that it was very rarely used.

As his eyes scanned the room, they came to rest on the old desk at the far side of the room. Cautiously climbing out of bed, Jane began to approach the desk, his curiosity overcoming his paranoia of hidden cameras.

There were four drawers, two on each side, each with an ornate metal handle. Coming closer, Jane realised that the piece of furniture would have actually been quite beautiful once, and would still be now if it had been cared for instead of shut away. A thin film of dust covered its surface, and the brass handles had become dull and faded over time.

Carefully, he slid open the first draw but was disappointed when he found it to be empty. He opened the second and third but again they contained only dust and cobwebs. It was only once he had opened the fourth and final draw did he finally find something of interest. A photograph lay upside-down amongst the dust. He glanced nervously at the door before reaching to pick up the photograph, making sure his fingers didn't leave any marks. Turning it over in his hand, he saw a fuzzy black and white image of a man. The picture itself was quite small and it was hard to make out facial details, but Jane was sure he had seen the man somewhere before.

In the picture, he was smiling, his neat white teeth glistening in that startling theatrical fashion. His dark hair was smoothed back and he wore a black suit without a tie. There was something terribly familiar about him, and Jane could almost feel his wit and charm trickling out of the photograph. He had not known the man, at least not personally, but they had met once, or maybe on several occasions.

He was quickly pulled from his thoughts by a loud thud which seemed to almost rumble down the hallway, resonating throughout the small room. Jane quickly replaced the picture, carefully avoiding the dust as he closed the draw. The clunk it made as it shut was only small but he felt sure that Megan would hear it, that she was listening for it. As he climbed back under the covers, he heard her violently unfasten the bolts and only just managed to lean back against the pillow before she threw the door open, marching aggressively into the room.

"You should have done as you were told, Patrick. He didn't have to die, but you killed him." She stormed closer, leaning over him and forcing him back against the wall. She placed her hands on either side of his head and bent over him so her face was only inches away from his.

"You shouldn't have disobeyed me…" She closed her eyes, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. "Never mind… you can easily be fixed." As her eyes opened he saw her anger had subsided, but it had left a look of deranged determination in its place, and Jane was worried as to which part of him she considered to be broken.

"Just like a child really." She continued, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek, she rubbed her thumb across his skin. "You want to see how far you can push the boundaries, and how severe the consequences will be. I suppose I should let you learn the hard way, if that's what you choose, but I feel you will regret it, my dear."

She reached down by the side of the bed and retrieved a think rope from the floor. Jane realised he must have been to focused on her to notice her bring anything into the room. Fear was slowing him down, she would keep him here forever if he feared her much more. Roughly, she grabbed his wrist and jerked it towards the edge of the metal bed frame. He pulled back but with only a third of the force she possessed and she soon had his left hand tied to the bed. She then grasped his other wrist, tightly binding it with rope before wrenching it to the side of the bed that was against the wall. She wound the other end of the rope around the bed frame even more vigorously than before, and Jane now found himself lying face down on the mattress.

"I'm sorry I have to do this Patrick. You'll thank me for it one day."Jane was aware she was holding something in one hand but he couldn't turn his head around far enough to see.

"Megan please, I won't disobey you again, I promise." Jane pleaded as he lifted his head in an attempt to get a better look. He only hoped it wasn't a knife.

"I know you won't sweetheart, but you did disobey me, and for that you must be punished, or the lesson will never truly be learnt." She said this in such a rational tone, it almost made Jane see the point to her twisted logic. He let his head fall back against the pillow, burying his face in the fabric.

It wasn't long before he felt a hard, flat object slap against his buttocks. He grunted in pain, but refused to cry out. In response, Megan struck him harder, causing him to flinch away and whimper slightly. When she struck the backs of his legs, Jane kicked out at her but only succeeded in kicking the bed frame. He struggled against the ropes which began to rub the skin of his wrists, only tightening as he pulled and fought them.

The object, which he presumed to be some sort of leather paddle whip, continued to strike his back, legs and buttocks, and the stinging pain with each hit was beginning to wear down his pride. But it was only when she repeatedly slapped the same area did he finally cry out. Giving in to exhaustion, he collapsed on the mattress, no longer holding his tongue. The leather cut into his skin and blood trickled down his back and on to the sheets, leaving a dark red stain.

He wasn't sure how long it continued, maybe for twenty minutes, half an hour. He pressed his face further into the pillow, trying to smother the tears that were starting to escape from beneath his eyelids.

Megan let her arm drop to her side as she stood back, looking pitifully over the man she had tied to her spare bed.

"You must understand Patrick, I'm doing this for you." She said quietly as she gently stroked his backside. "You're a good man. There are just a few things I need to correct." She brought her hand up to play with his hair. Jane barley heard her muffled words through the pillow.

"I'll be back soon. I just want you to think about what you did. A man is dead, Patrick, and if it weren't for you he'd still be alive." She left the room, and even though he was tightly bound to the bed, she still slid every bolt across the door and locked it with the key she now kept round her neck. As Jane let his tears seep into the pillowcase, he felt more desperate than ever to escape, and he knew Megan would never let him go.

…

Lisbon threw the crumpled empty coffee cup into the bin in the corner of the park, her third that morning, and it was only 9:15. She had left the house early that morning, intending to go for a long walk to clear her thoughts, but had instead ended up sitting on a rusty park bench with a cup of instant coffee in her hand.

She watched with disinterest as a newspaper fluttered by, its pages separated as they passed her. She caught sight of one of the smudged headlines, 'Rookie Cop Missing'. She didn't bother to read the rest of the story, and she would probably have found the text illegible if she had tried. Kicking the paper angrily, she continued her walk, not bothering to avoid the puddles left from last nights rain. At least her suspension would be over soon, at least at work she would feel as though she might be making a difference. That she wasn't just wasting her time.

A car drove passed, and she looked up as she heard its tires approaching, as she now often did, hoping to see Jane's blue Mercedes pull up next to her. Of course this was not the case, and the car kept going down the road.

She hadn't heard any developments from the team and so she could only presume there were none to speak of. Jane had been missing for nearly a week now, and not one lead. No one had seen anyone who even vaguely matched his description, no one had noticed anything suspicious or heard anything out of the ordinary. It was as if he just vanished, and all traces of his existence had been erased. She was beginning to fear that when she went back to work and asked of any progress on the case her team would reply 'Patrick who?'.

It was only then she realised how truly scared she was of losing him. She wasn't only concerned for his wellbeing or ever his life, she missed him. They had become close over the past few years and she had even come to think of him as a friend. Despite his constant lies and trickery, his blatant disregard for her or anyone else's authority, she knew he cared about her, and she cared for him too.

He was a member of her team and as their leader it was her job to keep them safe, but she hadn't. She had been mad at him, and it wasn't even his fault really. He'd tried to protect her, he never meant to hurt her and he had been truly sorry. She could remember how much she'd wished he would just go away, wished he would vanish and leave her alone… and now he was gone. And as she climbed the cold stone steps up to her apartment building, her wet footsteps echoing throughout the clear morning air, she wished more than anything she could take it back.

….

**A bit of a nothing chapter here but some narrative progress made. :D I wonder who the man in the picture is. (damn it, I'm supposed to know that)  
Hope you enjoyed. ^^**


	5. Trust Only Movement

**I big big thank you to ****Iloveplotbunnies, Argovia, waterbaby134, lisbon69, blueMnM415, Madam Spooky, CindyT63, Megster97, mwalter1, Flora24, RedBrickandIvy, Anna and becciehill for reviewing the last chapter.**

**I'm really sorry this is so late. I had four exams today. O_O German, Film Studies and two Maths. (ironically Film studies was the hardest) There was about five minutes left and I got to a question that said 'Design a cover for a DVD box set for two disaster movies of your choice'.  
1: We should never have to be creative under pressure.  
2: That's not even a question!**

**Anyway…**

Chapter 5

Trust is a fragile thing. Once earned, it affords us tremendous freedom. But once trust is lost, it can be impossible to recover. Jane knew this well, though it was unfortunate that he discovered this too late. Since he had first worked with Lisbon, he had often crossed the line which distinguished the boundaries of what was and what was not socially or professionally acceptable, but he had always felt safe in his knowledge of her trust. That even when the line was crossed it did not mean he could never come back. It should have occurred to him then that maybe if he strayed too far from the line he would not be able to find it again, and he could never cross back.

It was as he lay face down on the mattress which both hands bound tightly to the bed frame that he considered this. He had made that mistake once, and he was certain that if he ever got out of here there would be nothing he could do to truly correct it, but he would be a fool to make the same mistake again. He could cross if need be, but he must always keep the line in sight, for it might be the only thing keeping him alive.

Lisbon walked through the large, glass double doors of the CBI building, not making eye contact with anyone passing and ignoring their hesitant glances as she continued to her office. It didn't take her long to unlock her door and step inside, comforted by the familiar surroundings. Over the past few years it had become more of a home to her than her apartment. She was surprised at how stuffy the room had become after just one week. Opening the window to let in some fresh air, she heard the rest of her team arrive. First Cho, who went straight to his desk, then Van-Pelt entered a few minutes later with a cup of instant coffee from the machine down the hall, and then finally Rigsby turned up, at least ten minutes later, with a large cheese and pickle sandwich in one hand.

Just as it had been every day before. Nothing had changed, nothing was wrong, everything was normal. She would go out and greet the team, they must be aware she was already here, she would ask about the case and they would tell her what they had. Or more likely what they didn't. But she still couldn't shake that feeling.  
_Patrick who?  
_And she wouldn't be rid of it until she heard them say his name, until she saw it written on the name plate which lay neatly on the desk he never used. The desk she had avoided when she entered for fear it wouldn't be there, that it had never been there.

Lisbon quickly left the office, swinging open the door and not bothering to shut it behind her. She had a clear view of Jane's unused desk from the doorway… and his nameplate still lay in the same place it always had. The only object there, positioned proudly at the front, despite the fact it was obsolete. She looked over at her team, noticing their confused stares, even Cho seemed to be watching her intently.

"Any further information?" She asked, and no one needed to enquire as to what information she was referring to.

"No." Cho replied bluntly, but looked genuinely upset as he saw Lisbon's shoulders slouch in disappointment.

"We'll keep looking," Van-Pelt offered quickly, "We'll find him."

Lisbon smiled weakly, envious of her optimism, which was clearly genuine. "Yeah," She replied quietly before walking back into her office, shutting the door behind her. Van-Pelt had already sent her all they had, which was barely enough to fill one document. Part of her still believed he may truly have vanished, been sucked away and was floating somewhere outside the space time continuum with a candy bar and a cup of tea.

The bizarre image the scenario created in her head was just enough to bring a small smile to her lips. People don't just vanish. They can be killed, lost or even be taken… but they do not simply vanish. And if no one could ever vanish, then that meant they could always be found.

Jane couldn't be sure whether he fell asleep or passed out, but when he woke again it was morning, as to which morning he was unsure. Rolling onto his back, he stretched his arms out above his head, noticing he was no longer tied up. He turned his head to the side and found his usual breakfast, possibly even more burnt than usual. He was still sore, but the pain had lessened in the night and now it was more just a slight stinging when he moved.

Hungrily grasping the burnt toast from the tray, he sat up and began to eat eagerly. It had been at least a day since his last meal. As he finished the last of his toast, shoving it greedily into his mouth, he glanced over at the chest of draws. He couldn't believe he had almost forgotten about it and the picture that lay in its bottom left draw. He hoped Megan would have been to angry and focused on discipline to notice the light fingerprints in the dust he was sure must have been left there. He was beginning to think she might have observational skills that could rival his. Of course he was yet to see any evidence of this, but there were a lot of things he hadn't seen. Pink jeans, a British Taxi, dark matter… It didn't make any of them any less likely to exist.

He felt as though he was always being watched, even when there was no one else in the room, someone was watching him. Someone was always watching him, and they knew he had been in the draw, knew he had seen the picture, knew he was sure he'd seen that man before.

He heard heavy, booming footsteps approach the door, and soon he was faced with yet another hideously floral green dress with pink lace around the sleeves.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully, beaming at him as she entered the room. Patrick nodded in return.

"I trust you had a good night sleep," she continued, clearing away the remains of his breakfast. "You were sleeping like an angel when I came to untie you. I hope you thought long and hard about what you did Patrick." She fixed him with a stern expression, before smiling warmly again.

"Now that you're rested, you promised me you'd contact my father."

"Right… yes." Jane wasn't quite sure how he was going to get out of this. Megan's face began to shift into a snarl.

"I've been very patient Patrick. Very understanding." She growled, bringing her hand up to cup his chin, but it was more a grip than a caress. "I think you should grant me this. I give you food and a bed and I'm even trying to make you a better person." She paused there, and Jane was uncertain whether or not he was expected to respond.

"Um… yes, well," He started, not quite sure how he might finish that sentence.

"I've done a lot for you, I think you're being ungrateful."

"No, no, no! I'm very grateful, very grateful indeed. It's just that, since it's been so long, I'm having some trouble feeling the spirit world. I think we would have a greater chance of contact if we were outside." He lied quickly, and in a seemingly convincing fashion. Although, to his ears, it did sound a little forced. She looked at him dubiously, and he feared she may have heard the rushed tone in his voice.

"Very well," she said, but the sceptical look didn't leave her face. She stood and gestured to the door. For a moment Jane didn't move, only staring dumbly at the open door. Was she really letting him out? No, it couldn't be this easy. Despite her oaf-like appearance, he could tell she was quick to react and she outweighed him by at least 50 pounds. If he was going to attempt escape, he was going to have to choose his moment carefully.

"Well don't just sit there," she snapped.

Jane gingerly pushed back the covers and lifted himself from the bed, covering himself with his hands as best he could. Hesitantly, he walked across the room under her scrutinising gaze, careful not to make any sudden movements. He had to hold her trust, it was the only thing he had that he could even begin to use as a weapon.

As he slinked uncomfortably down the hallway, he sensed her eyes on him, fierce and intruding. He felt as though he was being watched by crows, peering curiously down at him from their thrones on the telephone wires. Piercing and mocking, for he was bound to the earth while they were the rulers of the sky… but still cautious. Always aware that things might not go how they expected.

Before long, Jane felt her hands rest on his shoulders, guiding him through the house. They went straight to the opposite end of the corridor, the front door was so close, if he could just reach out… but she pushed him passed quickly. Tightly grasping his shoulders, digging her uneven fingernails into his flesh.

Through the door was the kitchen. It was small but held all the common essentials. A refrigerator, a cooker, a teapot… It was kept neat, a smart line of cookery books stood proudly on a small shelf above the stove, the pine cupboard doors matched the pale polished stone of the counter, although it was probably replica. He was soon forced out the back door which was a white wooden frame covered with a wire mesh on the outside. It swung open easily.

Jane then found himself standing on Megan's back porch, the morning sun highlighting the two wooden chairs and glinting of the glass table that stood before them.

"Sit," she ordered, and Jane obliged, carefully keeping his genitals covered with his hands.

She moved to the chair opposite him, which gave an audible creek as she sat down. She watched him expectantly as he fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Well? What's taking you so long."

"Um… it's just… I, err… I'm not used to being this… exposed. Maybe if I…"

"I'm warning you Patrick, you are losing my interest and that is very dangerous." With a swift and surprisingly agile move she brought her face close to his, towering over him and forcing him to recoil back against the seat. He could see she was struggling to remain calm, any more wrong moves and he could find himself sprawled alongside the policeman.

"He's here," he whispered. A wide grin immediately replaced the stern expression on Megan's face. Clapping her hands together like a child, she fell back into her chair.

"Oh, this is so exciting! Isn't this exciting Patrick?" If she noticed the cheerless expression on his face then she did not let it trouble her. "Can you hear him? What is he saying?"

"He says… he says you shouldn't be afraid. He says that he misses you a great deal and he knows you miss him too, but he's happy and he wants you to move on." Jane said confidently, with a soft smile he remembered well from his previous performances.

"And, and?"

"He wants you to start again, to let everything go!" _to let me go_ "To right what you've done wrong in your life," _what you've done to me_ "and to stop hiding from the world." _can't they see you're crazy?_

"Is that all," Megan asked curiously after a short silence, cocking her head to the side.

"Yes, he's gone."

For a while Megan only sat in her chair, looking as if she expected him to say more. That there must be something else. Then her eyes turned dark and her hands clutched the armrests, her expression was not of anger but showed no emotion at all. It was as if she was hollow, as if she was a machine, a robot programmed only to exist, and nothing more.

"You're wrong."

Jane felt his confidant facade slip from his face and pool at his feet, running along the wood grain.

"How could you? How could you lie to me? I trusted you!" She stood shakily, taking a small step towards him. "I thought you were DIFFERENT! BUT YOU'RE NOT!" She screamed. "You're not. You're just like the others, just like THEM! They all lie, they all think they can fool me but they're wrong. YOU'RE WRONG!" Stumbling as she approached him, her face twisted into a demonic scowl.  
_The others_

Then he saw the face of the man in the picture, the man that had looked so familiar. He remembered meeting him, only once. They had been introduced on a talk show, he was the new, young talent from Sacramento. Had a knack for guessing peoples secrets, and Jane could tell he truly thought he had a gift, really believed he was helping people. They had made polite conversation, and when they left Jane never heard of him again. _Until… until…_

_Yesterday, Jack Knepper, a popular TV psychic, was reported missing by his fiancé. Police are searching for the 24 year old man who hasn't been seen since last Friday._

Jane ducked and slid from the chair as Megan's hand came up to swipe at the side of his head. Grabbing the leg of the chair he swung it in Megan's direction, successfully knocking her to the ground as he ran for the back door. Skidding across the kitchen floor, he ran back down the corridor. He could hear her footsteps thudding menacingly behind him. He reached the front door and with the eerie slowness of a dream grasped the handle, finding it locked.

There was no time to search for a key, no time to break the glass or yell for help. Quickly darting up the stairs he heard Megan trip and crash to the ground at his heels. Reaching the top, he swung round the banister, no longer concerned for his nudity. Hurtling through the door directly opposite him, he felt his feet leave the hideously patterned carpet and collide with old, disjointed floorboards.

The only object that furnished the room was a large double bed at the far end, but this was not what Jane noticed as he entered the room, as it was far from the most prominent feature. He let his eyes run over the walls, which were completely covered with pictures of him. Some old, some from newspapers or magazines, some stills from TV, some of his family, some of him and Lisbon, some which had been taken with hidden cameras. Even the ceiling was covered. Pictures of the inside of his house, of the CBI. She had know where he was for a long time. She'd been waiting.

There were tapes in the corner, piled high to about half way up the wall. They were each marked with PJ which was followed by a date. He assumed them to be recordings of his TV appearances, labelled with his initials and then the air date.

He turned as he scanned the room, coming to face the bedroom door… and Megan. She was breathing heavily and he could see she was hurt from her fall, but he had no doubt she could still overpower him.

"Do you like it?" She asked in an overly sweet voice, though her face still snarled. "I've been working on it for quite a while."

Trust is a fragile thing. Once earned, it affords us tremendous freedom. But once trust is lost, it can be impossible to recover. This was a lesson Jane found himself condemned to repeat again and again. Whether it be his wife, his friends, his colleagues… he always would make the same mistakes. It can take years to build trust, but it only takes the smallest suspicion to destroy it, to crack its surface… and then it can never be looked at the same way again.

Jane knew he had lost any means of freedom he might have once had. He had lost the one thing he held, and he would not have another chance. For there were no second chances, not for anybody.

…

**Ah, the cracks are sneaking back again. :D Not too pleased with this chapter myself but… eh.  
Sorry for my ramble at the beginning. Hope you enjoyed. ^^**


	6. One

**I am so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so sorry for not updating in over a month. I had loads of exams and then I went away for two weeks and only got back yesterday. ****This is only a short chapter but I felt I needed to post something to let you all know this story hasn't been abandoned.**

**A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and all of you who reviewed before. And a special thank you to Jisbon4ever, Mentalist lover and katta who really encouraged me with this. ****but you have nothing to fear, I would never stop writing just because of one negative comment. And I would like to clarify that Lisbon is probably my favourite character and Robin Tunney is the best actress to portray her. ^^(if you are confused by the apparent randomness of this last statement… never mind)**

**I promise to try and update more regularly now. Sorry for the ramble. You might want to read the end of the last chapter again if you've forgotten where we left off. I know I had. XD **

Chapter 6

"Agent Lisbon, I really feel this is for th…"

"No! This is ridiculous. He is on my team and that makes this my responsibility."

Lisbon stood as she said this, hoping that a height advantage might help her to win an argument she was clearly loosing. Madeline Hightower sat calmly behind her desk, looking up at the agent, refusing to rise as she had done.

"Lisbon, there are two ways we can do this. The hard way, with your refusal to comply with instructions which would result in you being forcefully removed from the case, followed by another weeks suspension… or… the easy way. You willingly step back from the case, I'll assign you a different one and you may return to your team when their case is closed. It's your choice Agent."

Taking a deep breath, Lisbon stepped back from the desk, putting a physical distance between her and Hightower in order to assure herself of the metaphorical one. Hightower was right after all, and if their roles had been reversed Lisbon was sure she would be making a similar argument. She knew when to back down and right now it was the only way she could hold her dignity.

"I understand your need to control this case Agent Lisbon but.."

"No, it's ok. You're right. If that's all…" She was already leaving before her sentence was even complete.

Hightower leaned back in her chair at Lisbon's acceptance of the situation. She was a good agent… a very good agent… no one was denying that. But working on this case wouldn't be doing her or anyone else any good. She was to close.

"Agent Lisbon." Lisbon stopped at the sound of her name, hand about to reach for the door, but she did not turn. "The case I want you to work on. A man named," She pulled a file out from under the neat stack of documents on her desk. "Jon Brieson has been missing for three days. He was a member of the local law enforcement in Santa Rosa. His father is a fairly powerful man and decided the local PD wouldn't cut it." Lisbon took the file from the desk, only briefly making eye contact before turning away again.

"I'll take a look at it, then start working on it tomorrow." She said as she walked out the door. She knew she was being petty but then, all things considered, she felt she had a right to be. Though she may have been able to handle the defeat a little more tactfully.

Lisbon stopped as she caught her reflection in the small, dusty mirror above the water fountain. The dark circles under her eyes were beginning to show what she had been feeling for the last week. Her skin was paler than usual and her hair hung limply around her face, reminding her she hadn't showered that morning.

Entering her office, Lisbon discarded the file on her desk before falling back in her chair and letting it roll across the floor until she hit the filing cabinet. There was really no reason for her to stay at the office, not if she wasn't going to work on the case until tomorrow. But if she left, where would she go? The minute hand slid steadily around the clock face, but she remained seated.

…

When Jane woke from the all too familiar state of unconsciousness, it was a while before the events of the previous day snaked their way back through his mind, leaving his clouded memories as they slithered away. Trying to bring the room into focus, he watched the pale ceiling blur and the cracks smudge. Lifting his head to clear his vision he found he was strapped to the bed, the cold leather restraints reminding him of those in a mental hospital. They were bound round his torso, hips and just above his ankles, keeping his arms pressed tightly to the sides of his body and preventing him from lifting any part of his body other than his head.

As far as he could see he remained unharmed. His eyes scanned down his chest and over his hips until they reached his morning erection which stood perkily between his thighs. He couldn't lift his head high enough to see his legs but everything felt how it should. Though this was not much consolation considering the situation.

He had been careful of his words and actions for a long time. Never deceiving, never defying. Waiting for that one moment, one chance… and there would only be one. He had been close, so close, but he became impatient… couldn't wait. He'd rushed through Megan's reading and had therefore read her incorrectly. He had known she wasn't stupid, always known. She was clumsy, crazy, even a little naïve but she was not stupid.

Of course Jane was used to making mistakes, even ones that could potentially have ended his life. He enjoyed the thrill of acting on impulse and that wonderful feeling that came with undermining authority. Sometimes we know we shouldn't and that's exactly why we do. He never set out to intentionally cause trouble but somehow dumb stuff always seems smart while you're doing it. And even after realising this, if he didn't die the first time then he would most likely do it again. He was a firm believer that sometimes it's right to do the wrong thing. After all, humanity is said to have steamed from disobedience. Adam and Eve defied God by eating the forbidden fruit and from this they became aware of their nudity, could decide for themselves what was good and what was not, they became human. As Oscar Wilde once said 'It is through disobedience that progress has been made, through disobedience and through rebellion'.

This was something he had once told Lisbon. She had only replied by reminding him of the consequences of his actions and they both knew that she would always try to make him follow orders and he would always apologise after ignoring them, but you can't say sorry for something you meant to do.

It was while he was pondering this he became aware that he was not alone in the room. From his position on the bed he couldn't see them but he knew who it would be and he knew why they were there. Straining his neck, he watched a dark figure move from the shadowed wall, a long knife glinting in the dying light streaming through the window. Jane struggled against the leather straps but he was bound to tightly to even squirm. He stared defiantly at Megan as she came into the light, he was done with being submissive, done with playing by her rules. He knew he had missed his chance and she would not allow him another one, not now… but what did he have to lose?

You cannot always wait for the perfect time, sometimes you must dare to jump.

…

**Quite a pointless chapter really but at least you know I'm still alive. :D Mostly just rambling about mistakes and regrets but I know quite a few good sayings about them and I USED THEM ALL GOD DAMMIT! … Hope you liked anyway. ^^**


	7. The Right Thing

**Thank you to Iloveplotbunnies, Lucyyh, Jisbon4ever, IntoDarkness and lelann 37 for reviewing the last chapter and thanks to everyone else who has reviewed so far. They mean a lot to me. (yes, I do know how said that sounds… stop laughing at me)**

Chapter 7

Lisbon had decided to make an early start that morning. She'd gathered up the file and papers she had finally gotton around to looking at late last night and was out of her apartment by 6:00. After stalling the car for the third time she left the apartment block car park with only one minor collision and began the long drive to Santa Rosa.

…

Jane continued to struggle defiantly against the restraints that bound him to the bed, the hard edge of the leather digging into his skin.

"Now now Patrick, you'll only hurt yourself" said Megan as she laid the knife on the bedside table, but there was no concern in her voice. Jane turned his head towards the knife and could clearly see it had not been cleaned, though he assumed that this would be the least of his worries. Megan fixed him with her cold blank stare as she continued to speak.

"You're not a bad man, Patrick. I know that. But sometimes, through no fault of their own, good people do bad things." Jane met her gaze with a stare that was equally intense, but Megan maintained her blank expression as if he were not looking at her at all.

"There's a devil inside you. It's not your fault but you know it's there and you shouldn't just ignore it Patrick. It's not something that can just be ignored." Her gaze softened slightly at her next words. "But don't worry. Megan will make it better. I can make everything better."

She took a syringe out of her pocket, lightly pressing against the end to test it worked. Jane watched the slight glint of enjoyment in her eyes as the contents of the syringe squirted in a thin stream into the air.

"This won't hurt a bit." She said as she approached him, the needle held proudly in her hand. Jane immediately resumed struggling but soon realised he was only wearing himself out. Megan placed one hand gently on the underside of his penis and used the other to press the needle into its base, quickly injecting him with whatever was inside.

"The human body is a conveyance for many dangerous germs, Mr. Jane. Naturally there are area's dirtier than others." Her emphasis on the word 'dirtier' showed her distain for the body part. An opinion which would most likely have steamed from her own experience and misconception rather than concern for hygiene, considering the state of both herself and her possessions.

"That's where the devil is." She continued as she removed the syringe. "but we can get rid of him, don't you worry about that!" This was followed by a short shrill laugh that resonated throughout the room and made Jane wonder where the devil was really hiding.

"And what do you hope to gain from this? How will this get you what you want?" Jane asked desperately as he felt his cock begin to go numb.

"Oh, this isn't about me. This is all for you."

"No Megan! I don't want this. You're doing it for yourself! You can't accept that I'm not who you thought I was so you make up some stupid reason for my behaviour rather than face the truth. I'm not psychic! I never was psychic and neither were any of the others!"

"That's him speaking" Megan said as she began to shake, the needle dropping from her hand."He's lying to me. He's always lying. He wants me to be unhappy, wants me to take my own life but that isn't going to happen. Oh, he came close once but I won't let him use you agai…"

"STOP IT! There is no devil! It's all in your head. Your STUPID FUCKED UP HEAD!" Jane yelled up at her. His fists clenched as he strained against the leather.

"Now we won't be having words like that spoken in this house. Those are his words. He's already infecting you." She said confidently, as if he had just proved what she had said to be true.

"You're mad. Completely mad!" Jane whispered, and she looked at him as though he was a child.

"I know you think that now. Just like when your mother would stop you from playing in the road and you thought she was the most horrible person in the world. But she was only protecting you and in time you came to see that she was right. Just like you'll come to see that I'm right." She spoke softly and cupped his cheek in her hand, using the other to brush the hair from his brow. "This will all be over soon, and in time maybe I'll come to trust you again. And I'll take care of you forever."

Jane didn't know exactly what prompted him to do what he did next. It could have been the prospect of spending the rest of his life strapped to a bed or simply wanting to remove the clammy feel of her hand from his face. Whatever other reasons he might have had, Jane found his teeth sinking into the side of Megan's palm because it was the only way he could fight. It wasn't effective and it wouldn't do him any good, but the point was he did it. He was fighting. Feeling warm blood trickle from the wound and over his lips, he was vaguely aware of Megan's shocked scream as she quickly pulled her hand away from his face.

She stared at her hand with an astonished and slightly confused expression as a surprising amount of blood continued to gush from the wound. It wasn't long before Jane felt her hand connect with the side of his face, leaving a smear of blood over his left cheek. When Jane raised his eyes to look at her he expected to find hate and anger but she wore the same confused expression she had before.

Hurriedly grabbing the knife from the table, Megan moved down towards his hips, grasping his cock in her hand. Jane grunted at the rough contact and quickly realised that the anesthetic had not had enough time to numb him completely. Megan lifted the knife and pressed the point against the head of his penis.

Jane knew he had to find something he could use, something he could say. Something that would affect her. He had to stall, if only for a while, and then maybe he could talk her out of it. He was good at that… talking. He always knew what made them tick.

"I hate you." He spoke softly but firmly, making sure she knew what he was saying wasn't just based of his current emotions. She hesitated before speaking, it wasn't for long but it was progress.

"I know that's how you feel right not Patrick but…"

"It's how I've always felt. There's only one other person I truly hate and I never thought it would be possible for me to hate anyone as much as I hate them but I do. I hate you." Jane knew his words were driven by the moment and there was only so much truth to them but he was sure he said them with enough conviction to convince even himself of their sincerity. The knife was still poised in her hand but it had not moved since he had spoken. Megan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When her eyes opened again they glistened slightly and they were creased at the corners.

"No, you don't mean that. This is just something every mother has to go through."

Jane was a little shocked at her statement, though he knew he shouldn't be. It was obvious that Megan saw him as a child, as her child. She had seen them all as her children. It would be easy to wait until they fell from the media's spotlight, their insight and arrogance quickly alienating them from family and friends, destroying any possible relationship. Jane remembered these times. He could capture any audience with his easy charm and alluring smile but anyone who got to know him found him insufferable.

All apart from one.

Of course this would not be the case for all psychics. He was sure that there must be a few whose company was pleasant, but these were not the ones she chose. After his wife and child had been killed, after he left the media, he would have been a perfect target. It would be a while before anyone noticed he was gone, and even when they did no one would care enough to search for long, eventually presuming that he had run away or killed himself. Why not take him then? Why take him now when there were people who would look for him?

"You hate me now, I suppose. But it's just like that time your mother stopped you from playing in the road. Remember that? Remember how I stopped you and how you hated me then? But you don't hate me for that now do you. I only ever did what was best for you Nigel." Her words were still directed at Jane but her eyes were unfocused.

"I never meant for it to happen. It was all that Webber girl's fault. She hated me you know." Her eyes met Jane's. "She'd sit on that chair by the window with that stupid orange cat sprawled across her lap and she'd hate me. That's why she did it, that's why they all did it. But they didn't get away with it. Oh, they thought they did at first but they didn't. I made sure of that."

Jane watched as the hollow shadows slowly crept across her eyes, leaving them faded and lifeless. It came as no surprise to him that she had, at some point, had a son. That much was clear from her behaviour. But what did surprise him was how he had failed to notice her paranoia. The numerous locks on the door, the gun he had only seen once but was sure she kept somewhere on her person and that it was not the only one she owned. The way her hands fumbled and her feet stumbled; always checking for someone she knew wasn't there but checked anyway because they could be.

She stared at him emptily, her thumb absentmindedly stroking his cock, though he barely felt a thing. Jane knew he had done what he intended, he had bought himself a little time. But time for what?

…

It was a while before Lisbon realised she wasn't listening. She had only been vaguely aware of anyone's presence since she had arrived in Santa Rosa and could not remember any details of conversation. After being directed to the Sheriff's office she had sat in the chair opposite his desk, which is where she had been for the past ten minutes, and was currently being informed of the progress that had been made by the local force. Although not having paid attention to what the Sheriff had said, she could tell by his tone and mannerisms that he was defensive of his team and was not especially happy to have to work with someone outside his unit. Lisbon considered that maybe she was giving off the same vibes.

She left the police department building and walked along the rows of cars until she found her own, or rather the car that had been issued to her by the CBI. There was no need for her to interview the suspects who had already been interviewed, despite the Sheriffs instructions, and so she let her finger run down the page of names he had given her until it reached one near the bottom.

It appeared that the local PD preferred to work systematically, going through the suspects in order of appearance rather than the likelihood of their involvement. The name her finger came to rest on was Megan O'Hara, the woman Jon Brieson had been going to interview the night he disappeared. Surely she would have been one of the first they would speak with, or at least that would have been the case had the team been under her supervision.

It was only a short drive to the house but it was not what she had been expecting. There were fields on either side and the small country house looked out of place with its neat colourful garden and white picket fence. There were no other buildings along that road and there had been no buildings since she turned down Prior Road and that had been a good twenty minutes ago.

There was something about the house that made Lisbon feel slightly uneasy. Everything seemed so perfect. Every flower in its right place, all with precisely positioned petals and perfectly spherical heads. They all swayed in unison and the paper sails on the miniature windmill spun steadily but there was no wind. She made her way slowly up the steps which were painted the purest white and raised her hand to the door.

…

**Dun, dun, duuuuuuun! I think there are probably only two chapters left of this story. Hope you're all still enjoying it. ^^**


	8. 08,13,10

Chapter 8

There was a sound. Of course there were always sounds but this sound was not a sound Jane had come accustomed to during his stay in the spare room of Megan's house. It was in fact so unexpected that for a moment his mind didn't quite register what the noise was. From her startled appearance, it was apparent that Megan was equally surprised that such an interruption should occur. Her expression was one of shocked contempt, angered by the audacity of the sound that had given no prior warning of its arrival, rudely distracting her from her duties.

And there it was again.

A short, sharp rapping.

The sound was not one that Jane, nor Megan, was accustomed to for its appearances were so rare and spread so widely through time that it had become insignificant. It was the sound of someone at the door, and right now it held more significance than Jane had ever imagined to be possible.

…

It had been just over two weeks since the day that Jane was last seen, and for the most part life at the CBI had continued the same way it always had. Everyone would smile pleasantly as they passed in the corridor on the way to their offices or as they waited in line at the coffee machine, exchanging the customary 'Hellos' and 'Good Mornings'. This would then earn them a smile in return, or at least a polite nod in acknowledgement of their brief greeting. No one talked about it, no one ever did. That was just how it worked. Everyone knew this and accepted it as it was, whether it be willingly or not. It was an unspoken agreement. To speak of such things would mean having to recognise their own fragility and that a badge and a gun does not make them immortal. They are no different or more well protected then those whom it is their job to protect.

Jane, of course, had neither a badge nor a gun but he was still part of them. Though I am not for a second implying that they have any delusions about their own mortality, after all they are reminded of it daily, but with any person there is always a childlike belief of what should and should not happen. Doctors shouldn't get sick, clowns shouldn't be unhappy and cops shouldn't be the ones who need protection.

It was this thought that brought Van-Pelts mind back to the subject of Jane. Out of all of them it was obvious that Lisbon was taking it the hardest. It hadn't been long since Bosco's death and now with Jane's disappearance the emotional suppression surrounding the CBI wasn't doing her any good. Secretly Van-Pelt was glad that Lisbon had been taken off the case. She would grumble and complain with the others but she knew it was the right decision. It was best for Lisbon to have some time away from everything. Some time away from Jane.

Van-Pelt had spent the last hour and a half mechanical skimming through the security footage from the day Jane disappeared, then the days on either side and then finally the whole week. One day had included and tripping over his oversized coat that dragged along the floor, sending the files he had been carrying all over the floor, which she had found rather comical. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She saw Jane walk down the stairs to the car park, get in his car and leave. There was nothing to suggest any possible cause for his disappearance. But then what had she expected to find? She had played the moment Jane left that day over and over because, in all honesty, part of her had expected something. A hesitant glance, a suspicious car, a shady figure. But as she watched him drive away again she saw none of these things.

As the tape continued to run she considered that this had been the first time since the previous Friday that she had even seen Jane leave. Though this didn't really come as a shock to her. What did however, was that as the footage continued to play she began to recognise the other people leaving. This would be the point she would usually have stopped the tape, seeing as it was obvious no one had followed him, but she let it run further, anxiously watching the people she knew she had seen before. The woman in the high-heeled shoes, the man with the blindingly orange tie, the pigeon that had waddled gracelessly across the car park. She had seen them all before, doing the same things in the same order.

But it was only as the man in the long brown coat, the bottom scuffed and dirty because it dragged along the floor, stumbled hurriedly down the stairs. Forgetting, in his haste, that his coat was not the optimum length for a man of his height and stepping on the hem, causing him to fall and scatter his files across the car park floor that she realised. It was the same footage. Different day, same footage. The date was correct and the time was correct but the footage was not. It had been switched.

It would have been simple to switch the footage from the day of Jane's disappearance with that of last Friday, last Friday being the last day Jane had left the CBI. The date wouldn't even have to be fixed as the security guard would not suspect anything out of the ordinary. After that day the cameras could be switched back to live footage and the footage from Friday easily edited to show the date of the current day. Whatever caused Jane's disappearance had happened in the CBI parking lot and whoever was responsible had to have worked here. Had to have worked in security.

Van-Pelt grinned as she grasped her cell-phone, flipping it open and scrolling down to Cho's number. This would narrow down their search considerably, how could she not have noticed? She maintained the grin as she heard the phone dial with its cheery tone.

…

Megan darted through the doors with one backwards glance to Jane.

"If you make the same mistake you made last time I will be very disappointed!"

Jane only blinked in response as she left the room, still locking the door behind her but Jane never heard the key turn. He couldn't afford to let this chance slip. He would wait until he was at least fairly certain that Megan had left to make the cop a cup of coffee but then he would scream for help. He was sure of that. If he didn't then this was it. But as the door opened he heard the voice of the person on the other side. Female, mid-30s, strong willed but also kind and caring. But Jane hadn't needed to work that out from the tone of her voice. He would recognise it anywhere.

And he knew now that he would remain silent.


	9. Coffee or Juice?

**Hey, so… nearly three weeks since the last update. *hides* I'm really trying but stupid education keeps getting in the way. No Jane in this chapter. Oh Noes! **** It just doesn't seem the same without him. Thanks to Anna, The Mentalist Girl, Lucyyh, Streak Of The Sun, In The Name, blueMnM415, Mentalist Lover, Leann37, Gtyy, Jisbon4ever and Iloveplotbunnies for reviewing the last chapter. And of course Smudje for reviewing chapter 3. ^^**

A bit of a dull chapter now I'm afraid but at least it's something. Gets rid of some boring technical stuff so it won't get in the way of Jisbon. XD

Chapter 9

Initially, Lisbon was not suspicious. She was wary, as she always was, of the woman that answered the door but so far neither the surroundings or any aspect of the woman's immediate appearance indicated that Lisbon had any reason to be apprehensive.

Before Megan had even reached the door she had already prepared her carefully constructed smile and had it fixed perfectly in place by the time she began walking down the hall. It fitted easily into her features and slid eerily on to her face as if it were made of liquid. Patting her hair, Megan peered cautiously through the small hole in the door before smoothing down her dress and organising her thoughts into a cheery greeting.

"Good Morning, but I suppose it's nearly afternoon now isn't it." She laughed, looking at her watch which dug deeply into her large wrist. "Is there anything I can help you with?" To most people she would have sounded perfectly pleasant and Jane only hoped that Lisbon could hear the overly friendly tone and forced merriment in her voice.

"Hello Mrs. O'Hara. I'm with the CBI." Jane heard Lisbon reply, following the abbreviated form of their job with the complete title. "I have a few questions I would like to ask you about the disappearance of a local police officer."

"Oh dear," Megan said with false concern, "I do hope he's alright. Please, come in, come in." Jane heard the sound of the door shut as Lisbon entered the house. "Would you like some coffee, or maybe some water?"

Lisbon declined both coffee and water and sat on the large cushioned chair closest to the door. From the outside the house had appeared rather small and Lisbon considered the room she sat in now to be far to grand for a house of that size.

There was a cream four-seat sofa against one wall as well as two chairs positioned with their backs towards the adjacent walls. One of which was the plain red one Lisbon now sat it and the other was a sickly green with a gold floral pattern that ran across the cushions. In the centre, placed on a large leopard skin rug, was a glass coffee table with a modern metal frame. No piece of furniture suited the rest and the seating alone turned the room into what looked like and indoor yard sale.

As Lisbon took in the randomly miss-matched décor and slightly psychedelic wallpaper, Megan sat in the opposite chair across the room. "Are you sure you won't have anything?" She asked again, "There's some fruit juice in the fridge if you'd prefer."

"I'm fine thank you Mrs O'Hara." Lisbon replied, her words slightly strained.

"Please, call me Megan; and I'm afraid it's Miss O'Hara now. My husband died quite a while back." At this, Megan's face took on a cheerless expression, her gaze wondering from Lisbon to the open window. "It's never been quite the same." Her face palled and her eyes became dark. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly before she turned back to Lisbon and smiled, although it wasn't quite as dazzling as before.

"but I won't trouble you with that." She rose again, making her way towards the kitchen. "You're quite sure I can't tempt you with a warm cup of cocoa?" she called back as she disappeared from view into and equally bright kitchen with similarly conflicting décor. Despite Megan's obvious lack of taste in interior design, both her living room and kitchen were impeccably clean.  
There was no dust on her table, no stains or marks. All her books were placed neatly on shelves and her ornaments were well polished and positioned perfectly on the mantelpiece. There were two dogs at the far end, both facing in, and two candles placed either side of a small golden church that stood faultlessly in the middle.

"I'm really alright Miss… Megan."Although Lisbon had confidently decided Megan to be harmless, something in her mannerisms still kept her on edge.

"Ah, well." Megan continued, having pored herself a glass of water. "I'll bring in a plate of cookies in case you feel a bit peckish." Lisbon was about to protest again when Megan walked a little clumsily back though the door that led to the kitchen holding her glass of water and a colourful plate of cookies.

"There," she said, placing them proudly in the centre of table. "Now doesn't that look homely. I always try and be and a good host. You will tell me if you want anything wont you? I have cakes if you prefer, or fruit! Would you like some fruit? I have all sorts you know. Apples, oranges, bananas, grapes…" The list went on like this with a whole assortment of fruits Lisbon would never even have thought of. "I even have pineapple…"

"Really Miss… Megan. I don't want anything."

Megan looked slightly displeased that her hospitality had been dismissed so easily but covered it well as she took a sip from her water and reached over to place the glass on a coaster. "Well, I always make sure I offer, and I'll leave the cookies on the table," she said, sliding the plate pointedly in Lisbon's direction. "…just in case."

Right then, she reminded Lisbon of her second grade teacher. Always offering gifts of cake and sweets, but this was not merely out of kindness. And Lisbon knew this was the case with Megan. Just as her teacher had kept her students in line with sweetness and bribery, Megan had her own agenda.

"Now, what was it you wanted to ask me dear?" Megan chirped as she folded her hands in her lap and looked up at Lisbon expectantly, her expression carefully hiding her slight resentment. Startled by the question, Lisbon realised that whatever plan Megan had devised might be working better than she thought it had.

"A local police officer disappeared either on his way here or after he questioned you. Did he ever arrive here?" Lisbon asked mechanically, careful not to imply that Megan might be under suspicion.

"Oh yes!" Megan excitedly replied. "He arrived nearly a week ago. Nice fellow, very polite, I'm sorry to hear he's missing. He seemed like such a lovely young man."

"He was here to ask you about the 'Barnes' case. Were there any problems during the questioning" The implication was subtle but Megan visibly tensed at the question, her expression hardening at the suggestion.

"Everything was fine." Her voice was harsh and grating with barely concealed bitterness. "I had nothing to do with it. It was all that Barnes woman. She blames me for everything you know. Every animal that goes missing, every possession that gets damaged. She hates me, she does. Hates me right down to my socks. There's nothin' I've ever done to her but she just won't quit."

"That's ok," Lisbon reassured, making a soothing gesture and leaning back in the chair. "I'm not here about Mrs. Barnes." Megan's posture relaxed slightly but her cautions appearance remained.

"She's got everyone against me, you know. It's all her." Her words were still sour but were delivered with far less force than before.

"I just want to know what happed after Brieson finished here."

"Well," Megan began, resuming her previous hospitable charade. "I offered him a cup of coffee which he accepted," Lisbon felt sure that unnecessary comment was aimed directly at her. "and after he had finished he got back in his car and drove away. I remember seeing his car headlights shine through the window." She gestured to the window Lisbon now sat in front of. It was covered by a white, lace curtain but she had a clear view of both the front yard and the driveway. "I didn't see him again."

"Did he drive back the way he came?"

Megan thought for a moment, "No, no I don't think he did. From the direction of the light I'd say he continued up the road. Not much up there though. It's a good number of miles until you reach the next house."

Despite her feeling of unease, Lisbon felt inclined to believe Miss O'Hara's story. After all, it seemed perfectly plausible and she had no evidence to suggest that it was in any way false. She seemed like a nice woman, friendly, cheerful and eager to please. Her house was quaint and the odd combination of furniture seemed fitting to her quirky personality. But that was just it, everything fit perfectly. They had been made to fit perfectly, but it was the air of designed perfection that created that nagging feeling in the back of her mind.

"Ok Megan, that will be all," she said as she collected her pen and notepad she had not bothered to right on. There was nothing remarkable about what Megan had said and there were no details so she would remember it easily.

"Really, are you leaving so soon? Well, I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you. I do hope that nice young man is alright. He seemed so nervous when I answered the door, I actually thought he might faint." Megan chuckled.

"Could I quickly use your bathroom. It's a long drive back."

Megan's face brightened as she replied, happy to finally be able to offer assistance. "Oh, of course. It's the door at the end of the corridor, past the stairs."

Walking down the hallway, Lisbon was aware of Megan's eyes following her, watching closely for any signs of snooping. Lisbon knew that Megan considered her to be someone who couldn't be trusted, that the police couldn't be trusted. She thought they had been turned against her, just as she thought everyone had been turned against her. Shutting the door behind her, Lisbon still felt as though she was being watched. Maybe Megan had cameras, really tiny ones in the light fittings. Despite knowing it was illogical, she still glanced apprehensively around the room, even checking the edges of the mirror to ensure it wasn't one way.

Confidant that her privacy was not being invaded, Lisbon began to look round with a more professional intention. Glancing over the labelled bottles or various medicines and hair products, she found nothing incriminating, but then what had she expected to find in a bathroom? Blood soaked clothes, a murder weapon, maybe a body in the bath tub?

'Jane would know' she thought suddenly.

He would be able to tell what day Megan did the dishes and what colour socks she wore when she last did them just by looking at what brand of toothpaste she used. He would have known instantly whether she was involved in the disappearance. He would have had his fun first of course. Delighting in revealing her secrets whether they were relevant to the investigation of not, most likely the latter.

Flushing the toilet so Megan would not be suspicious of her motives to enter the bathroom, she turned to leave as her phone vibrated against her leg. Flipping open the top she realised she still hoped to see Jane's name illuminated on the screen. Of course it wasn't Jane and she read Van-Pelt's name instead. At least it might mean some news on the case.

…

It hadn't taken long for Cho and Rigsby to return to the CBI building having heard of Van-Pelt's breakthrough. Before she had even explained what she had found, both men were already sat in the car and on their way.

When they arrived, Van-Pelt was just finishing going though the list of people in security and marking the ones who would have had access to the control room during the week of Jane's disappearance. This list had now been narrowed down to 7 people.

"Boss is gonna' be really pleased with this." Rigsby said, a broad grin plastered firmly into his features. "It's got to be one of them."

"and look at this," said Van-Pelt as the profile of one of the security workers came up on the screen. They both scanned the writing until reaching the end of the file.

"Quit the job the day after Jane disappeared?" said Rigsby, the grin still firmly in place. Even Cho was smiling slightly. "Yeah, and lives over an hour away, who would choose that commute without a motive?"

"It looks like we've got our abductor."

…

Hey Boss,

Finally made some progress, a lot of progress actually. Narrowed it down to 7 people who work in security, most likely to be Megan O'Hara. She lives in Santa Rosa, Cho and Rigsby are on their way now, you might be able to help if you're not too busy.  
I'll keep you updated,

VP

…

**Not such a great chapter, I have a pretty bad cold at the moment so be nice. **** I had fun describing Megan's living room though. Should only be a few chapters left now. I have a really great idea for my next story but I won't start until I've finished this one. That's how Fic-wars start. XD**


	10. Be The Serpent

**So… this has actually been finished for a couple of days now. I wanted to add more as the chapters so short but… that's just not gonna happen. ^^ Thanks to TheMentalistGirl, Streak Of The Sun, lisbon69, Lucyyh, Iloveplotbunnies, blueMnM415, Anna, Kel, glouton-mana, In The Name, leann37, jisbon4ever, Mara, got2bekiddin and Moviewriter for reviewing the last chapter. *huggles***

Chapter 10

Lisbon was in the bathroom.

That was good.

That was special cop code for 'I'm going to invade your privacy now'.

Megan was careful, Jane knew that. She was very careful. Her house would be organised to deter any notions that she would be anything other than harmless, if a little eccentric. Her isolation simply dismissed as prejudice from other members of the town and her overly cheerful demeanour easily confused with someone who is hospitable, eager to please… lonely. But there must be something she missed. Like the photo in the draw, like leaving the key to the room she locked so religiously next to the door it opened.

There must be a mistake somewhere. Maybe just one, just small, tiny. Lisbon knew something was wrong, she had to. But it was only a feeling. A faint niggling at the back of her mind, like a mosquito bite. And she would have no reason to think it would have anything to do with him. No reason to think of him at all.

He heard the toilet flush, the signal that the time of rifling through the suspects belongings was over. Realising that the room she was in was only at the other end of the corridor, Jane forced his eyes shut in an attempt to stop himself from calling to her, screaming at her. She was close, but he had no doubt Megan was between them. Listening closely for any noise he might make, any signs of _disobedience _that could give away her true character.

As the click of the bathroom door echoed distinctly down the hallway, Jane pictured Megan's ghoulish face, bloated in anger as the she raised the gun towards the man who stood bewildered in the doorway. But as the shot was fired, it wasn't the officer he saw falling to the ground.

…..

Lisbon had very little time to think, and she supposed that it was for this reason she did what she did. For if she had had time to think even vaguely about how it might be best to handle the situation, she may have considered the obvious flaws in her plan. Or at least she would like to think she would have.

If there had been time, even just a moment, she would have seen that she was at a great disadvantage. That she was alone, that no one knew where she was, that the closest house was over a mile away, that Megan outweighed her considerably and that she was probably not dealing with a rational woman. Reflecting on this, Lisbon realised that the last statement could refer to either Megan or herself.

But there had been no time, and so she had not seen any of those things.

Raising her head off the floor, Lisbon flinched and quickly lifted her hand the large bruise on the left side of her forehead. Luckily there didn't seem to be any signs of bleeding nor did she find any other injuries. Sitting upright against the wall, Lisbon rested her head against the cold stone and squinted in the darkness. She could only make out vague, distorted shapes but judging by the stone walls and floor she was most likely in a cellar or basement.

She was confused to begin with, her unfamiliar surroundings and unexplained injury causing her to panic. Sitting silently, she tried to calm her breathing. She had been in the bathroom when someone had phoned; she'd been at a suspect's house…

_She couldn't stay in the bathroom any longer; it would begin to look suspicious. Opening the door quietly, she began to tip-toe down the hall, surprised that she didn't see Megan's face peering around the corner. Treading carefully along the floorboards, she felt like she was taking one step every minute. When she finally reached the small arch that lead directly to the living room, she paused, just out of sight. Slowly inching around the corner, Lisbon saw Megan sitting on the repulsive green chair, her back, for the most part, was facing where Lisbon was standing. But Megan would only have to look slightly to the left to be able to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of her eye. _

_Swiftly scanning the objects that littered the living room, Lisbon glanced over wooden ornaments, porcelain figures and decorative vases filled with flowers that didn't go or suit them. As her eyes crossed the ornate walking sticks that stood proudly in a wooden cylinder, her gaze lingered. Although briefly considering her actions, Lisbon found herself reaching over and grasping the cold wood of the handle. Slowly drawing it from its case, she noticed the handle was in the shape of a snake's head and its body was twined down the length of the stick in an elaborate pattern. _

'_It was only for protection,' she rationalised as she removed the walking stick and held it firmly in the air, as if even dropping her arm would give away her position. 'just in case. After all, the gun might cause panic and Megan could act irrationally, therefore causing Lisbon to shoot unintentionally.' _

The reason she had originally picked up the stick was still unfathomable to her. She thought now that maybe the face had been turned towards her, its glassy eyes shining temptingly out from their hard wooden sockets. Mouth opened slightly to reveal a protruding tongue that slithered between its lips, polished invitingly. Hadn't it been turned towards her? Hadn't she seen the eye sparkle as it caught her attention? Hadn't the scales of the body seem to creep up the stick as she reached over, her hand inches away from the handle?

_Lisbon began to move a little faster, the walking stick still held determinedly above her head, its golden tip surfacing defiantly. Filled with a sudden jolt of courage, she was about to announce her presence when she took a step forward and her arm swung back purposefully so the walking stick rose high into the air, its tip almost scraping the ceiling. 'just in case' _

_Her mouth hung open but she made no sound. She advanced again and she felt her arm waver  
'only for protection'  
as she began to strike until…_

'_I wouldn't do that if I were you Miss Lisbon.'_

Lisbon wasn't so sure what had happened next. She remembered the stick falling from her hand, its dull thud as Megan sprung furiously from the chair, her previous calmness lost. She remembered her inflated face, swollen with rage, the sharp pain in her head and the glint of a glass eye as she fell to the ground.

…..

Megan had never considered herself to be anything less than the perfect host. She was always polite and generous, offering anything she could give. She made sure she was presentable, and that the house was clean and tidy. She went out of her way to be friendly and this was what she got in return. How could people be so ungrateful?

Of course she'd recognised the name as soon as she'd heard it. It had been on his phone, right at the top. 'Lisbon'. It had confused her at first, that he might have the number of a whole city. She had not thought it would be a name. She'd phoned him too, this Lisbon, the night Megan had brought him home. She could remember the shock as she went to pick up the phone, only to have it burst into life and vibrate furiously on the table. As she approached and slid open the top, the name had glared up at her accusingly and the phoned continued to buzz. She had swiftly cut it off. Sliding it shut with a sharp click and sending it skidding across the table where it hit the wall and lay silently.

It had stayed there for quite a while.

But how would the agent have known about her? She was careful to cover her trail. "She must have talked to that Barnes woman," she said aloud. "that was it. She would have jumped at any chance she could get to drag my name through the mud again. Her and that Webber girl. They're all the same. Just trying to get me locked up, that's what they're trying to do." She continued to mutter as she locked her basement door and climbed to two remaining steps back up to the kitchen.

She walked back through the living room, the plate of cookies remained untouched in the centre of the table, her glass of water, half empty, still sat neatly on the coaster. She hesitated as she glanced at them sadly "None of this was meant to happen." She picked up the snake headed walking stick which lay where it had been dropped not too long ago and placed it back in its wooden cylinder along with the others, its eyes gleaming.

She would not give up, not now.

…..

The house had been silent for a while now, only broken once by a sharp cry; slightly muffled. This deviation from the quiet stillness that had fallen thickly upon the house was what made the silence so threatening.

Jane opened his eyes, hardly surprised to find his vision blurred by tears. Of course, he rationalised, the cry was just as likely to have come from Megan as it was from Lisbon. He had no evidence to support either theory. Lisbon could have found any number of clues which could have lead to her understating of Megan's involvement in his disappearance or the death of the policeman, or maybe even both. Was it not possible that, having reached this conclusion, Lisbon had then struck Megan from behind, causing her to emit a strangled cry before falling unconscious to the ground.

But he knew this was not true.

And so he showed no surprise when he heard the key turn swiftly in the lock, nor when the door was flung open so violently it struck the wall, or even when he found Megan's red, puffed face inches away from his own.

Although her face remained set in a ghoulish grimace, her voice was startlingly calm. "We're in it now," she growled accusingly, "both of us."

…..

**I was going to write a bit more about Lisbon here but I'm tired and it's a perfectly good ending as it is. I'm looking forward to the next chapter… I think. It seems good in my head but I'll probably screw it up. :3  
Thank you for reading, I'm sorry it's moving so slowly. I'll try and quicken the pace. (also sorry for the weird walking stick thing, I don't know why I did that)**

**If anyone's interested, I did a digital painting of Simon Baker. .com/#/d2y5twk *is very proud***


	11. When We Were Younger and Better

**I am so sorry it's taken me s long to update. :O I don't mean to be so useless and I hope you all remember what's happening.  
A huge thank you to Streak Of The Sun, lisbon69, Iloveplotbunnies, blueMnM415, Kk, In The Name, leann37, jisbon4ever, got2bekiddin, Jazz248, Fallon the Coyote Pirate, Emz-13, TeresaJane, 24Mentalistfan, danni and Moviewriter for reviewing the last chapter. *huggles***

Chapter 11

A person's life, their real life, will not necessarily begin when they're born. The real life of Megan O'Hara began during May of 1982. She contemplated this as she sat at the foot of the bed in the spare room of her house, looking absently at the man she had tied to it. Several things happened to her that year, neither of them particularly pleasant. That was the year Megan was thirteen, nearing the end of her time at middle school. Looking back she still remembered how excited she had been at the prospect of high school, and it sickened her to see herself so naïve.

…..

The town of Mayfields had been, at least in recent years, a noticeably unlucky town, seeming to bestow a curse on all those who lived there, however briefly. There had been a number of notable incidents over the past six or seven years, starting with the spontaneous fire at Greggs Bakery, causing many of the surrounding buildings to be completely destroyed, and the most recent being the untimely death or old Mrs. Ramnsond, an elderly lady who met a surprisingly humorous end under the wheels of a Blue Austin Mini. What made the incident so funny to Megan was that Mrs. Ramnsond, having survived the initial crash with a Nova, crawled out of her upturned car only to be immediately hit by the Mini going the other way.

Megan's father had of course scolded her for making a mockery of such a tragic event, but she still secretly found it funny. Her father had continued to tell her that when you laugh at others misfortune, the karma-dogs will get you, and when that day comes, rest assured, others will laugh. She considered this as she rounded the last corner of the school corridor before she reached the double doors at the entrance, and finding her nose pressed into the generous stomach of Tom Crowley, the notorious school bully.

Tom was large for his age, and not only in terms of height. He was the same grade as Megan but was at least twice her size. His hair was spiked as high as it would reach and he always wore an unflatteringly tight tank top and baggy jeans. His snout-like nose only added to his overall unpleasant sneer and his eyes war dark and piggy. His severe acne not only covered his face, but extended over his neck in a vast expanse of pussy brail.

He was always followed by two other equally nasty kids, Rhys Hargreaves and Ben Martoe. Rhys, although being far skinnier than Tom, was just as tall with the same scornful glower and spiked hair. Ben, being the smallest of the three, had long black hair that fell over his face in greasy strands, blocking most of his features from view.

"Hey Loser, guess you couldn't see where you were going with all that fat blocking your eyes." Tom spat, Rhys and Ben stood sniggering behind him. Megan tried to push past with her head down but Tom quickly had her pushed against the wall, pulling her collar out from under her tattered jumper and holding her off the ground.

"Hey, I'm talking to you shit face!" Megan struggled but Tom held her firmly against the wall, the act seemingly effortless. "You think you're too good, eh? Think you're better than me?"

Tom, becoming board with Megan's weak resistance, let her drop to the floor where she landed awkwardly on her left side. Still sprawled against the wall of the corridor, her arms raised instinctively to cover her face, Megan waited to be struck.

"Crowley!" Came a shout from further down the corridor. "My office, NOW!"

From her awkward position on the floor, Megan was unable to see who had spoken but would never have been able to mistake the booming voice of Mr. Sedgwick. He was a tall man, no older than 40 but his hair was already greying and had been losing its colour for quite some time. It was wavy and almost shoulder-length, a look he completed with dark boots, loose fitting jeans, a leather jacket and a Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt. Despite his casual and laidback appearance, he was well known throughout even the first graders as 'a badass motherfucker who don't take shit' as were the exact words told to her on her first day. Just his presence radiated unquestionable authority.

"No way man, if I'm not home before half three my dad'll kill me!" Tom protested.

"Well you should have thought of that." Mr. Sedgwick stood back from the doorway, holding the door open and allowing Tom to pass, which he did so begrudgingly. Rhys and Ben began to retreat in silence, their sneakers squeaking along the polished floor as they dragged their feet.

"Are you…" Megan didn't wait for the concerned words from Mr. Sedgwick or any of the spectators who had gathered to watch, forming a small semi-circle around the scene. Not that she would get much from the others. She ran through the miniature crowd, not stopping to pick up her bag or the books that had fallen from it. Racing through the double glass doors and down the wide, deep steps that led up to the school's entrance, she pushed past the groups of pretty girls idling in the schoolyard and the groups of boys gathering 'round the bike racks.

She didn't stop when she reached the school gates that led to the crooked, paved sidewalk, littered with candy bar wrappers that fluttered over the cold stone like yellowing leaves. She did not stop when she reached the end of the street and turned the corner down her own road, skidding underneath the branches of the old Horse-Chestnut tree that overshadowed the pavement by Mr. Louminds yard. She didn't stop at Mrs. Greenwich's bright camellia bush or at the corner shop. It was not until she had sprinted across her own front yard, through the side gate to the back of the house and up the three wooden steps to the back porch did she stop to breath, and this was mostly due to the wall that blocked her path.

Leaning against the wooden door that led from the porch to the house, she slid down to sit on the warm decking. She looked at the large gold-faced watch she had received as a Christmas gift from her aunt the previous year. It had a dark brown leather strap and roman numerals instead of numbers. 3:30, still two hours before her father got home.

Today was his birthday, and this year she planned to do something special.

…

That had been the start of the first major event in her life, and was not one she remembered gladly. It was an act she greatly regretted.

"I'd give anything to take it back you know." She said absently, no longer looking at Jane, no longer looking at anything. "…take everything back. I've been trying for years now, so many years. I've seen the best of us fall to madness, their minds destroyed, dragging themselves through the streets at dawn. Their faces turned down to the pavements, their eyes hollow and lifeless. I never thought the next one could be me. But I suppose we never see it coming do we, we can never see anything coming. We sit in our living rooms, on our warm cushioned couches with our micro-waved ready-meals and we watch as news reporters interview the victims of rapists, of gangs and violent crimes, of abuse and neglect and we wonder how people can be so cruel. It's strange that we never stop to think. We pass our comments and make ourselves feel like good people but if we would just stop for a second, well… I think the world would be a very different place."

She had been speaking in such a mindless tone; Jane had almost forgotten she was in the room at all. It was as if her voice had been being transmitted over a radio signal, partly muted by static and outside interference, her voice had crackled and buzzed. This made her eyes even more piercing as she locked them with his, her eyebrows rising. Jane felt himself tense; suddenly very aware of the threat she posed.

"There's no magic in the world Patrick, at least not any more, not for me. The best minds can be broken, it has happened so many times and it will happen again. And sometimes… sometimes you find someone who makes it better, makes it all ok. There's still suffering and misery but all that just seems to go away. But it's not ok, nothings ever ok. I've seen how broken and tortured this world is, as you have… and once you know that, there's no going back."

…..

Hauling herself back off the decking, Megan took the key from her pocket and opened the back door into the kitchen. She walked almost merrily into the living room where she half jumped onto the couch and switched the TV to channel 7 just as the opening titles of 'Psychic Sam' began to play. She didn't really believe in an afterlife, or at least not one you could contact, but she found the interaction with the audience interesting. Sam made it seem so convincing even she was beginning to change her mind.

"I'm sensing an unhappy spirit in the room this evening." Said Sam, communicating with his spirit guide Win. "I'm sensing… that they feel someone is grieving for them, someone they want to be happy." He continued. "Is there anyone here called Judith, or Julie… or maybe Justine? I have a man here, died recently, who has a name beginning with N."

Megan watched intently as the camera panned to a member of the audience, a stout woman in her fifties, who had stood up rapidly and was now struggling to regain balance.

"My names June, and I recently lost my husband Nathan…" She was cat of by an enthusiastic interruption by Sam.

"Nathan! That's it! June, he just wants you to know that… he's in a better place now. He still thinks about you all the time and he doesn't want the end of his life to stop you from living the rest of yours."

June sat down again, apparently satisfied with the amount of information she had received, as the audience clapped. The show continued in a similar fashion, as it did every week. The host made some vague reference to someone's name, living or dead, a member of the audience would jump to the conclusion that it was their mother, their husband or their pet cat, and the audience would cheer as the member reclaimed their seat having gained some sort of closure.

Megan had realised long ago that what Sam did was nothing special. He didn't even attempt to prove his gift with obscure facts about a person's lifestyle or personality, only threw a name into the audience, waited for someone to take the bait and then tell them what they wanted to hear. Even so, she found it strangely compelling, probably a combination of a fascination with the afterlife and Sam's charming demeanour.

As the credits began to scroll up the screen at impossible speed, she switched the TV off and climbed the stairs up to her dad's room. Opening the door, she saw his computer, a large, grey, ugly thing with a bulky monitor and yet a surprisingly small screen. Sitting at the warn swivel-chair, she pressed the on button and used her feet to spin round while she waited for it to load. When she finally saw the welcome sign, she steadied her chair as the desktop appeared one icon at a time.

She couldn't wait until her father got home and saw the Happy Birthday background she had prepared for him. While she scanned down the folders, she came across one named X. She didn't remember this folder. Why would it be marked X? She clicked on the folder, feeling that sense of dread she got when she knew she was doing something she shouldn't. The folder was full of picture files marked with the numbers 001 to 298. As they began to load, she saw that the first was a picture of her room. From what she could see it looked like the camera had been positioned on her bookcase, showing a clear view of the door and her bed. As the second and third picture loaded, they showed her open the door, come into the room and put her school bag by the side of the bed. Megan watched in confusion as the next couple of pictures loaded, showing her take of her shoes and place them by the door.

Her eyes widened as she realised what the next pictures would be, but she kept clicking the picture icons. Number 8, she took of her jumper, number 10 she pulled down her skirt, number 12 she removed her bra, number 13…

Megan wrenched the mouse from the computer, the cable snapping as she threw it against the wall, smashing the picture of her and her father last summer and knocking it on the floor. She backed up against the wall of the bedroom, staring at the computer screen which seemed to leer at her, showing its pictures proudly. She ran out the room and hit the banister before turning and rushing towards her own room.

Throwing open the door she ran to the bookcase, grabbing books at random and flinging them to the ground. In her rage, she grasped the end of the bookcase and thrust it against the adjoining wall, causing it to overbalance and crash to the floor. She stopped, breathing heavily. She stared at the camera in the wall, its pristine clean lines shining in amusement.

The camera stared back.

…..

**Not too sure about 80s stuff so I just made it up. ^^  
I will try and be better at updating but I said that last time. :( Thank you very much all of you who are still reading.**

**I did a drawing of Simon Baker if anyone's interested. .com/art/Simon-Baker-178311332?q=gallery%3Ahortensie-stone%2F8491227&qo=3 The Link didn't work last time. *crosses fingers***


	12. By Force, Hath Overcome But Half His Foe

**I am so very sorry for the 7 month wait! (that must be some sort of record) Thank you so much for sticking with the story for so long and a huge thank you to those of you who sent me encouraging messages to keep writing. My life has just been overrun by schoolwork but exams are nearly over now. Hopefully this means the next chapter will be up before another 7 months. :)**

**For those of you who have forgotten what's happening (I know I had) basically Lisbon is locked in the basement and Jane is still handcuffed to the bed. Should only be 2 or 3 chapters left to go. I was going to wait until I'd finished them all before updating again but I thought that would be mean.**

Chapter 12

Lisbon slowly opened her eyes to the growing shadows.

It was dark.

Had it always been dark? She couldn't remember.

As the shadows grew fainter her eyes keenly sought the features of what had been vague silhouettes and found the broken outline of two small windows at either end of the narrow room. It had not been dark before. The sun had shone weakly through sandy, cracked windows, illuminating the fine specs of dust that drifted lazily across the room.

She had slipped a little further down the wall when she had fallen asleep and she could feel a dull, persistent ache in her lower back. Manoeuvring herself so she was pressed flat against the wall and lessening the pain, she watched the minimalist features of the room double and blur as her vision became hazy. Once everything returned to its rightful place, Lisbon clutched at the brick wall behind her and cautiously began to lift herself from the floor. She moved slowly, careful not to overbalance and making sure objects did not begin to move by themselves until she reached a standing position, if a little haggard.

Now with an improved view of the room, she could see that there were an awful lot of tattered old boxes and not a lot else. There was a small blue fridge which did not appear to connect to anything and, of course, a narrow staircase which didn't look as if it would be able to support the weight of a woman with Megan's build.

Taking a tentative step forward, Lisbon balanced herself of one of the taller box piles and began to make her way towards the stairs. She gripped the banister and cringed as the weak wooden steps creaked under her feet. There were only seven or eight steps but it felt to Lisbon as if it had taken the same length of time it would have taken to climb the Washington Monument. Steadying herself against the wall, she twisted the rusted handle and felt no surprise to find the door locked.

…

Jane had remained silent for the duration of Megan's outburst; he had almost come to expect them and honestly would have been taken aback had she entered the room in the calm collected manner he might have hoped for.

"Were not that different, you and I" Megan said slowly, her face hardly moving as she spoke.  
She left it hanging, and Jane found he couldn't form a coherent argument.

He had realised long ago that there is little good in the world once the best had been taken. Like a TV network with the number one show, but only one. And once that's gone, once its lead dies… there were just endless re-runs of misery. He'd change the channel if he could, and he would one day. But Red John had the remote. At least he knew where it was; at least he had a meaning. It was vengeful but a vendetta is a meaning all the same. He had something. Though he was beginning to understand the void he saw so often in Megan. The one she could never quite cover up, not once you knew it was there.

"Everyone has hurt me. In their own way." She continued, her fingers slipping down to the hem of her dress, smoothing it out before bunching it up in her fist, though her face showed no sign of anger. "But then, everyone hurts everyone I suppose… in their own way. Have you noticed that?"

She addressed him by word only and showed no facial sign she was even aware of his presence. It seemed a general question rather than one of rhetoric, as would have been expected of such a question. As though she was really asking if the world was as cruel to everyone else as it was to her. If her judgement had been skewed, her information incorrect.

"Would either answer change anything?" Jane asked in return, his voice breaking from lack of use.

She looked at him then. Looked at him properly for what was probably the first time since they had met, or even before. And she saw what he was.

"No. No, I don't suppose it would."

…

Lisbon could see there was no way out. Not even a special movie way out and not even a special psychic Jane way out that he leaves until the last minute to reveal. The latter two, on reflection, are in fact rather similar. But then this was so much like a movie. It was Megan's movie. She was one of those people. One of those people you always see walking aimlessly, starting arguments and overcomplicating things. Melodramatic. They don't see you, at least not as we see each other. We are just characters in their script. There are ways things can end, and ways things should end from a producer's perspective. Endings that will be popular, that will leave the audience happy and fuzzy inside, or a superficial sadness that will eventually be life affirming. And the audience was on the side of Megan.

Lisbon slowly began to trudge back down the stairs, letting her feet drag on the wood and watching the small clouds of dust she disturbed with every step. Reaching the cold stone ground, she glanced over at the faded boxes in the corner. The few items in contrast to the wide empty space of the room reminded her of her own basement. She didn't keep clutter, although she suspected Megan's was all round the house. Any new brightly coloured picture frame or tacky ornament and she'd find a place for it.

The boxes in Lisbon's basement contained what was left of her childhood. The only memories she'd bothered to keep; or the only ones she had the option to for that matter. She had always said she'd get around to sorting them out one day. One day had emerged from next weekend and was quickly turning into never. So they just lay forgotten as these boxes had.

Lisbon ran her hand over the lid of the closest and biggest box, her fingers leaving marks in the dust. Reaching the edge of the lid, she lifted it cautiously, fearing a three headed demon Megan might keep as a pet… or more likely just a rat. Surprisingly, the box was empty. The cardboard on the inside was two-toned; the top third being lighter than the rest suggesting objects had once been kept here for a long time. The rest of the boxes were similar, only one contained a few small items. A tennis ball, a pair of blue tights that looked too small for a grown woman and three loose pages from an old book. Picking one up, she saw the white of the page had yellowed and the words faded.

_With impetuous recoil and jarring sound__  
__Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate__  
__Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook__  
__Of Erebus. She opened, but to shut__  
__Excelled her power; the gates wide open stood_

Paradise Lost, or at least she thought it was. It had been a long time since her last high school English class. Reaching for the other pages she read a few more lines. _The first sort by their own suggestions fell;__Self-tempted, self-depraved: man falls deceive;__By the other first: man therefore shall find grace;__The other none. _It was from the same book at least, and by its structure and phrasing she was inclined to believe she was right. They were indeed an odd collection of Items. Maybe she could knock Megan out if she threw the ball hard enough. She always had been a mean pitcher.

Discarding the pages she watched them flutter haphazardly back into the box. The ball wasn't going to help her much but she took it anyway. Might kill a couple of hours at least.

…

Megan had been standing in silence for some time now, or at least that was how it felt. But then any amount of time was some time, Jane thought. Everything is relative. Whether the amount of time he had allocated the phrase 'some time' to was within the boundaries of what someone else might consider the minimum time length worthy of said phrase was a matter of opinion, and not one which currently mattered a great deal.

He had found his mind wandering lately.

It was impossible to keep track of the days, or weeks, or had it even been months? Maybe he should have kept count. It would have at least given his mind a sense of progress, even though it was a false one. People like goals, something to aim for. If he survived 100 days he could give himself an imaginary smiley sticker to stick on the tally chart in his head.

"Won't be long now," Megan said ambiguously, as though continuing from her previous sentence without pause. "Not that it matters. I should have seen it coming so long ago, and let it. It would have come sooner if I'd let it. Would that have been better?"

There was a pause again, though this time it was more of a pause and less of a void, sucking all sound from the room. Megan smiled suddenly, and looked at him in that cheery, friendly way as she had done in the first few days of their meeting. It seemed more sinister now than ever. For both of them.

"What would you like for dinner? It's getting late isn't it? I'll cook you anything you want, that's only fair. I've always believed in fair and that's the one thing I've stuck by. I may be a lot of things, even a lot of nasty things, but I am not unfair and that's the truth." She spoke quickly, her voice ringing in a tone-deaf melody.

Jane didn't think there was any cooking she could offer that would remotely rouse his appetite. In however long he'd been here the only food he'd received had been burned toast, lumpy soup and questionable tuna sandwiches; often accompanied by a glass of slightly clouded water or milk, which tasted all right he supposed but always smelt funny.

"I'll have whatever you're making," was what he settled with.

"No, no. It's only fair that you choose," Megan replied, shaking her head vigorously.

Jane thought for a while. Surely there was something even Megan would be able to do a decent job of cooking. A good meal was far too much to ask, but an edible one…

"Pasta," he said. Now there's a fine easy food to do. It had even saved his ass on a number of occasions. Megan's face lit up further at the reply, she was almost beaming.

"Pasta, indeed! I'm sure I have some somewhere." She replied as she began to bustle away, her dress bouncing as she walked. She turned back at the door, her smile dimming slightly but still retaining its uneasy cheeriness. "I have a few loose ends to tie up, but I'm sure they can wait until after dinner."

Jane heard the last lock of the door click shut behind her, still not forgotten. He supposed it had become something of a habit. The significance of the meal was not lost on Jane. He felt as though he was awaiting execution. Looking at the door where Megan had just left, he thought he probably wasn't the only one.

…

**Thank you all again for reading. It means a lot to me that you still are. **


	13. Chapter 13

**The next chapter without a six month wait… doing quite well here. Unfortunately the spacebar on my keyboard is no longer working and I had to type half of this using an on screen keyboard. :( I'm not really happy with this chapter but it took so damn long to write I'm leaving it as it is. :)  
Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter.**

Chapter 13

Megan spoke to herself as she searched for the saucepan as she often did when she was alone, which in itself was often. Her mutterings were not always of the subject of her activities but generally roamed to other sources of internal conversation. Currently, she was pondering over an incident in a TV drama she had seen a few days ago which had been troubling her ever since.

"It just doesn't make sense. Not the slightest bit of sense! How could she have had a meeting at four o'clock when as she's about to leave the clock on the microwave clearly states its 5:12. Did they really think people wouldn't notice? I'd like to see how many complaints they got about that."

She knew she'd left the saucepan here on Tuesday. Certain of it. She finished cooking her soup and then she washed the saucepan and put it right there next to the other pans. It must be those kids down in the village. They come in at night and move things, even steal them. Sometimes they return them later and hide them in cupboards.

"They think I won't suspect them but I know. No one gets past Megan. Not anymore. I double lock all the doors and windows, even triple lock the big ones. But they always manage to find a way in."

She'd tried to catch them coming down the chimney once. Had bought a cactus specially for the job and placed it at the bottom. They were too clever for that though. Must have been able to see it from the top. Sneaky little shits.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, opening the second cupboard under the sink. "They've been moving things again. Probably laughing at me with their friends. Really fooled old Megan good this time!"

She spun around suddenly, trying to catch them watching from the window but they're too quick. They're always too quick.

She opened the old packet of spaghetti and placed half in the saucepan, watching the bubbling water splash and gurgle around the pasta, lapping at the sides. The spaghetti began to slide down and was slowly swallowed by the water which gobbled it up hungrily. She stirred absentmindedly with a thick wooden spoon, a thin strand of pasta occasionally bobbing up to the surface before being dragged back down by its comrades. Pasta was such a spiteful food, Megan thought to herself. Much like children. Not that they were a food. Well… at least not a legal one. That would be a damn good way of dealing with those kids though. A damn good way of dealing with all the rotten little buggers. It would give them a practical use. She could even make furniture out of their tiny bones, maybe a nice necklace too. Still, there was no time for that now.

Children were all nasty, evil little creatures. Megan had learnt that when she had been no more than an evil little creature herself. She had never been popular at school, never even came close. All of them would pick on her because of her weight or her clothes or her hair or her stupid thick rimmed glasses. Those had soon found their way into the river. It seemed there was always something that made her a target, often a combination of things. They would all call her names or trip her up. They got what was coming to them though. Sarah, Clarice, John, and of course Timmy, he had been the worst.

"_Why do you always where such shitty clothes?"_

"_It's because she's so poor and she has to make all her clothes herself… from garbage."_

_Megan tried to ignore the shrieks of laughter from behind her as she took her seat in biology. The stools in the science lab were quite high and her feet always dangled a few inches above the ground. She hated that. _

"_Have you even washed you hair this week. It's a mess!"_

"_I bet she has to wash in the river because she's so poor." The shrieking laughter came again. The condescending sort which came from the desire to hurt rather than humour. Megan was sure neither of the girls found the crude joke even slightly funny. It was the same in every class. Megan had thought she would get used to it, it was only the same old tripe from a different mouth. But it continued to hurt. _

_She saw John's grim smirk walking her way and tried to look inconspicuous, but he could probably smell her from the hall. As he passed her table he knocked her lunchbox on the floor with his elbow and laughed with fake enthusiasm along with the rest of the class as her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches fell to the floor and her apple rolled under the desk. He departed with a coy wink at the girls behind her, Sarah and Clarice. Their giggles were sickening. _

It had been the day before the school trip to the Winterbourne mountains which were about 15 minutes away from the school and so a popular field trip destination. The mountains surrounded the old quarry, which was abandoned now and had turned into a local junkyard. Broken fridges and old wardrobes often found their way there one way or another. During field trips the students would have to pair up with a 'buddy' so they wouldn't get lost. Clarice always went with Sarah and John always paired with Timmy. Megan didn't have a pair and so would have to make do with a teacher or supervisor.

It had been a good day in the end she supposed. It was certainly the last time those smart mouth kids called her names, yes siree! She'd never have trouble from them again.

"_Hey look, even the adults can't wait to get rid of her,"_

"_She probably smells because she always wears the same clothes and never washes because she's so poor."_

"_I don't ever want to be close enough to find out!" The four monsters backed away in an exaggerated fashion before collapsing into shrieks of laughter._

_Megan had been sitting alone on the bench eating her usual peanut butter jelly sandwiches. Apparently the 'buddy' system didn't apply at lunch and Miss Gaines had scurried away to the special teacher table where only teachers were allowed to sit. Megan didn't mind much. It wasn't the first time she had eaten alone._

_Clarice, Sarah, John and Timmy were all over at the edge of the mountain dropping their rubbish into an abandoned quarry. Megan hated to see littering, there was a bin right by where they had been sitting. They had also wandered away from the group and it was now only Megan who could see them as she was sitting on a bench separate from the main picnic area._

"_Miss Gaines said we shouldn't stand too close to the edge." Megan called to them. She had stood up but not made any move towards them. _

"_Miss Gaines can go fuck herself" Timmy said in a mocking voice, which was followed by crude laughter. The four also moved so they were standing right on the edge and John threw his Rieces Pieces wrapper over._

"_You shouldn't do that" She continued. "Hedgehogs can get caught in it and die!"_

"_Oh no! Not the hedgehogs!" Timmy exclaimed with mock horror. "Quick, we'd better go down and collect all the shit we dropped along with the tonne of other wrappers everyone drops down here. They laughed overenthusiastically again._

"_It's not funny!" Megan persisted. "All sorts of animals can die by choking on litter, or suffocating in it or cutting themselves on it!" _

"_Oh no Timmy! Think of the animals! The stupid stupid animals!" Exclaimed John._

"_Won't somebody please think of the stupid animals!" Shouted Sarah. Megan could barely make out what they were saying through their cackles, their laughter being genuine now. The little shits were really finding this funny._

"_WELL LETS SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT!" Megan screamed as she grabbed her sandwich bag of the table and rushed at Timmy, easily sliding it over his onion shaped head. He grasped at her hands but Megan was quite a bit taller than he was, much stronger too._

"_YOU THINK HIS IS FUNNY? " She continued to scream, all laughter now silenced by shock. The bag was sticking to his face, crawling its way down his thought. Megan pulled the bag tighter and felt blood dribble over her fingers. Disgusted by the warm, sticky goo she pushed Timmy away forcefully and he had crashed into John. John reached out blindly to stop himself from falling and grabbed hold of Clarice's sweater for support, pulling her down with him. Clarice grabbed Sarah's hair._

She had warned them of course.

On both accounts.

By the time Miss Gaines had arrived with all the other _'special teachers'_ from the _'special teacher'_ table, aroused by the screams of the four children, Megan was already sat back in her seat brushing dust of her apple.

The authorities called it a terrible accident.

No one ever suspected anything malicious, or even thought anything strange of the situation. Kids play where they're not supposed to play, and with things kids are not supposed to play with. Kids were stupid, these things happened.

The water bubbled angrily over the sides of the saucepan, splashing on Megan's thumb causing her to recoil in both pain and shock. She had almost forgotten where she was. Placing the colander over the saucepan she poured the water down the sink, it gurgled and burbled contentedly. The pasta stuck to the bottom in a clump, the edges turned dark and crispy. She scraped what she could into two shallow bowls with a wide rim, they always did present the food so nicely. She put a tin of instant tomato and basil sauce in the microwave and began to great cheese into a small pot, humming merrily.

_thud… thud… thud_

A muffled but still prominent pounding sound entered through the open kitchen door. Cautiously, Megan placed the cheese grater on the side and peered into the living room.

_thud… thud… thud_

The sound continued in regular intervals.

She couldn't see anything unusual. All her furniture was in the correct place, her ornaments carefully arranged and were still stood proudly where they were placed. Glancing quickly at the windows she expected to see one of those kids from the town throwing rocks at her window, or mud or just hitting it with a stick. But no one was there. Not even a stray tree branch in the wind. But then it wasn't the sound of something hitting against glass. It was too deep and dull, the sound of something more solid. She crept through the room, her arms outstretched as if waiting to encounter an invisible monster. She reached the hall.

The door was only open a crack and she didn't wish to open it any further. Peeping through the slim gap she had quite a clear view of the front door. The glass in the doors window was bevelled but she would be able to make out a shape If someone had been there. Looking as far as she could to the left and then to the right, Megan decided to leave the noise as it was, though still slightly concerned of its origin.

"Won't matter soon anyway," she mumbled as she walked slowly back to the kitchen, looking over her shoulder until she reached the door and closing it swiftly behind her.

"Probably those stupid little shits any way."

…

Jane had began to dose off when the sound had begun. It took him a while to realise it wasn't in his head. Instinctively he tried to move to find the source of the noise but was tugged fiercely back against the bed by his restraints. It wasn't long before Megan re-entered the room carrying a tray which held two bowls, two tall glasses and a bottle of champagne. The tray was carefully, and quite skilfully, balanced on one hand. In the other she carried a shot gun.

She bustled over in that way which had become so familiar and placed the tray on the bedside table. She then lent the gun against the wall without a word, as if she had brought in nothing more than an umbrella. Jane opened his mouth to question the Gun's presence, but found there was nothing to question and so closed it again.

The thudding continued.

"There we are," Megan said cheerily as she lifted one bowl and placed it on Jane's chest. He could now see the bowls content, and was not surprised.

Megan sat on the bed and twirled some of the spaghetti around the fork, which ended up being far too much for one mouthful, and moved the food steadily towards Jane's mouth.

"What's that noise?"

"Oh… it's nothing important," the fork had paused as she replied but then began to advance again.

"I can't enjoy a meal with that noise. It's far too distracting." Jane said matter-of-factly, his face void of emotion though Megan's expression remained eerily cheerful.

"I think it's only fair," Jane continued, not needing to expand. "It's what a good host would do."

He now saw a slight nervousness in Megan's expression as she rose, placing the bowl back on the tray and smoothing down her dress. The smile seemed to be permanently stuck to her face, and he wasn't sure if Megan could physically remove it, or if she was even aware of its presence.

"Right… of course, I'll see to it right away."

As she retreated from the room Jane eyed the fork on the bedside table, the clump of burnt pasta now slipping back into the bowl. He lifted his leg up, pulling it as close to the top of the bed as he could and reached for the handle of the fork. He didn't know what he intended to do with it but it was the only source of weaponry he had. Though he would much rather have been able to reach the gun.

…

**I didn't really enjoy writing this chapter very much and I think it shows. Hopefully I can get my keyboard fixed soon. Should only be two more chapters if I stick to my plan and don't waffle on while going off on a tangent… like I did in this chapter. :)  
Thanks for reading.**


	14. Even The Dead Tell Stories

_Falling back into old habits. Sorry for the late update (not six months late this time but late all the same) My laptop keyboard is now fixed. Yay.  
I predict only one more chapter (maybe two) as long as there are no more flash backs. They keep finding their way in. I made a list of things to achieve in this chapter and by the end managed to get the first one. Damn you back stories!_

Chapter 14

It almost felt as if the offending noise came from inside her own head, like it was trying to get out. Things had tried to get out before but she hadn't let them. There had been times of course when these things had escaped, tried to stop her from doing what she had to do, but she got them back and she held them. Megan thought about this while she stood in front of the door to the basement. Was it better to think that things were the product of your own mind? That everything was part of a personal world? She had always thought not, but maybe that wasn't so. Maybe it was more comforting to think it was in your head and you could just wish it away.

She remembered what her grandmother used to tell her before she died. Megan remembered little of her now, she had only been small at the time of her death, but could easily recall the chilling tales of a monster which once terrorised their town. This monster was in fact only a man, Mark Fillisk. A quiet, unassuming business man who, as her grandmother had put it, had a run in with the crazies. He shot two junior high school students, a young Biology teacher and the schools janitor (who was lucky enough to escape with only a flesh wound). It was said that his ghost would come and terrorise children who do not behave as they should. _'He's out there'_ she heard he grandmother whisper as a cold wind would echo through the chimney and chill the room, and for a second Megan's gaze would linger on the window. _He's waiting for you to slip that candy from the shop into your pocket, for you to take that shortcut through the alleyways and then he's gonna getchya! If you're not good it'll be his face you see grinning in the window._

Of course Megan soon realised she was under no threat from Fillisk. He had killed himself before the police got him over five years ago. He was dead, long gone, and as time passed even the children of Mayfair began to realise this_. But a monster is never really dead,_ her grandmother would tell her. _Even the dead tell stories. _Megan had thought about this for a while, and sometimes thought about it still. Things are never really finished.

But the ghost of Mark Fillisk had been fictional, the danger and fear all in her head, and once Megan realised this she had not given the man, dead or otherwise, another thought. He had been wished away, just as she thought she had been able to do with so many things. They all seemed to be slithering back now. Seeping through her tired armour and settling around her brain. Everything she thought and hoped she had lost for good,but even the dead tell stories. Even after the Fillisk house had long stood empty, even after the children's screams had died, even after the hammer came down, the trigger pulled, the holes dug, after everyone in that godforsaken town had forgotten the name Megan O'Hara and what passed in court that day.

_Thud… thud… thud… _

Maybe the devil had finally found her. All those slight glimpses and blurred smudges at the edge of her sight and he was finally here. Waiting for her. Waiting for her to open the door to her own damnation. Maybe she had done wrong after all.

…

The clock read 5:48, nearly two hours since they left but Cho was suspicious the clock was lying. Miles of endless countryside could add hours to a journey. They hadn't even seen a gas station since they left the main road.

"You could at least admit you're lost," he said, not turning from the passenger window. "It's the first step to acceptance."

"I'm not lost. The Satnav knows what it's doing." Rigsby replied, squinting into the distance.

"We should have been there by 5:00."

"There's a sign up a head. At least that must mean we're close to something."

Cho directed his eyes to the road without turning his head. There was a plaque shaped blob hovering above the road, shimmering in the heat. Glancing at the screen of the Satnav he saw that it still showed their triangle moving optimistically towards its destination, which was somewhere beyond the edge of the screen.

Rigsby leant forward in the driving seat and squinted at the fast approaching sign, now wiggling in a less frantic dance. The landscape had been be gradually dissolving into scrubland and was now looking a hell of a lot like a desert.

"Santa Rosa! See I told you I knew where we were going!" Rigsby exclaimed, pointing at the sign triumphantly. Cho looked up as they passed.

_Santa Rosa  
42 miles_

"Damn Satnav…"

…

Megan stood in the basement doorway, the door still vibrating as if distressed and offended at the manner in which it had been opened. She had expected to find hell waiting for her on the other side, the devil grinning wolfishly exposing row upon row of sickeningly white pointed teeth, beckoning her inside with one long crooked finger. She had expected the corpses of Sarah and Clarice and all the others to come stumbling towards her. Their skin rotting, their eyes glazed and distant, their skulls collapsing and their broken limbs dragging behind them like chains. She had expected a monster with jaws that bite and claws that scratch, had expected Mark Fillisk wielding the razor he used to kill himself, had expected rats and roaches and rabid dogs. For her very soul to be wrenched and twisted from her body.

Only when the light from the hall illuminated the stairs and she watched stunned and shaking as an old matted tennis ball rolled down the stairs and was swallowed by the gloom did she realise she may have been a little dramatic in her imaginings. She had always been prone to exaggeration but in her later years her imagination seemed to be taking dramatic to a whole new level, and Megan recognised this. Somewhere she was still seven years old and hooking a chair under the doorknob of the closet in her room. Somewhere she still believed that if she moved the chair now the bogeyman would still be waiting for her. Megan thought her mind even less rational now as it had been at seven… it was probably those damned kids. _Or old Lucy Thatcher, she was always trying to get the best of me. Tried to get me that day on the stand._

It vaguely occurred to Megan that old Lucy Thatcher was probably long dead. She had been old then and that was a good 40 years ago. _And good riddance to her too._

It was at this thought Megan began to make her way down the stairs, noticing each groaning creak as her weight hit the steps which sagged gently but threateningly in the middle. Hadn't she put someone down here? The young policeman perhaps? No. That was too long ago, he was with the others. This was the woman. Megan had intended to deal with her later but her chores had a way of escaping her. They always had, and Megan still heartily believed someone was stealing her thoughts. They were getting good at it too.

As the step's groan ended with a sharp crack she quickly stepped onto the cold floor, feeling its chill through the thin soles of her shoes. Cold, but solid. It was dark in the basement, and the light hadn't worked in years. Megan looked accusingly at the shattered bulb as it swayed gently in the draft left by the open door. Although providing adequate air flow the door did little to illuminate the gloomy room, the light from the hallway merely dusting the first few steps with its glow before fading.

Megan began to move tentatively towards where she had left the body, shuffling her feet and stretching her arms out in front of her while waving them as if having to physically move the air out of the way in order to progress.

She stopped suddenly. Arms flailing in an attempt to keep her balance at such an abrupt and unexpected halt. She could see the wall in front of her, quite clearly in fact. It's pale plaster contrasting with the dark stone floor. Her eyes must have adjusted suddenly. However it was not so much the sudden appearance of the wall that had Megan puzzled, but rather the distinct lack of a crumpled shape on the floor. Megan knew the body had been there, she was the one who had left it crumpled. _The woman had been dead hadn't she?_ Megan wondered as she turned her back to the wall. _She had checked that hadn't she? Surely she had. She always checked._

_What if the body had been stolen? _She considered as she felt her back thud against the plaster. _No, that wasn't possible. Could the body have been possessed? Was it Sarah? Or Clarice? Or Mark Fillisk come to get her? _She imagined him, his head lolling on one side exposing the rip in his throat he had cut with a razor, eyes rolling.But the body would be that of the woman. Would his injuries be transferred, would the eyes still roll?

She heard a soft scraping and hoped it was a sound she had not been meant to hear, and not a sound intended to scare. Hoped it was a sound that would give her an advantage. She looked in its direction. Had the noise come from one of the boxes? She couldn't quite see them but she knew where they were.

Maybe there were rats. She had sometimes found holes at the corners, the edges jagged. She had put traps down but always found them untouched in the morning. They were sneaky, she'd give them that. With her back still firmly pressed to the wall, Megan stretched one foot out and brought it back down lightly, expecting a shrill squeak to fill the room. Her foot touched the floor without a sound. She was beginning to be able to see more clearly in the dim light and could now make out the vague lines of the boxes.

There was that sound again. A sharp scraping, a quick shuffling. Something moving, maybe dragging itself across the floor. Both legs broken from the fall into the quarry, or eyes bulging and lips turned blue from suffocation. A thin bruise around the neck where the bag had cut in.

The outlines of the boxes were moving. Shifting and sliding in and out of each other. Swimming backwards and forwards. The shuffling started again. Megan sprang forward at the wavering shapes with a loud harsh cry.

"Call me unstable?" She yelled. "UNSTABLE AM I LUCY? UNPREDICTABE? VIOLENT?"

As she made a grab for the boxes she was knocked to the side and landed with a thud. Grappling with the floor, fingernails scraping across the stone in a series of shrieks, gauging jagged lines. Megan began to right herself only to be knocked back on her side, her ribs crunching painfully. She glimpsed a pale, ghostlike hand and a flash of dark hair as her hand stuck out blindly, colliding with something soft.

_It's Sarah! She's come back to get me. They've all come, they'll drag me back with them. Back to wherever they came from._

Megan sprang back to her feet and stumbled towards the shadowed figure, but was stopped by a swift kick to her stomach. Doubling over but retaining her balance, her eyes darted to find the woman at the bottom of the stairs. Lunging after her, Megan suddenly felt her body slamming against the floor as her feet flew from under her.

_She's got my legs! She'll drag me back!_

Megan heard a loud cracking sound in her head before she lost consciousness.  
The tennis ball rolled swiftly towards the wall before bouncing triumphantly against it.  
Lisbon leapt up the stairs before falling through the open door to the hall on the other side.


End file.
